


A Gift for Greg

by gracefultree



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Becomes a Love Story, Corporal Punishment, F/M, House Being House, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: Stacey buys House a gift the day she walks out on him.  Slave!fic





	1. Last Day at the SAC

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very new kind of story for me to write, and I want to thank the authors who introduced me to the genre and gave permission to play around in their world: tailkinker and OfLymondDreams. 
> 
> This is a slave!fic. There will be rape and violence, so be aware in case that triggers you. I'll do my best to put warnings before each chapter. 
> 
> Basic notes on society: The Civil War ended due to a compromise around slavery rather than ending it, and slaves still exist nowadays. Slavery is regulated by a branch of government, and there are laws in place about how one becomes a slave, how one treats a slave, and how one owns a slave. (One must meet certain financial criteria in order to purchase a slave, because the owner must be able to provide for basic food/clothes/shelter/healthcare. Killing slaves is illegal, however disciplining them strongly is not, certain infractions legally require certain punishments, etc. More info will play out in the story.) 
> 
> There's no restriction on race, gender, or age, though people born from a female slave are not automatically enslaved: they go to special orphanages and get education through 16, then have to make their own way. Jails and prisons are much less popular than in our own world, as people are enslaved after three criminal acts and the death penalty is alive and well across the country. 
> 
> Also, it is illegal to use a slave for sex before they are 16 years old, however certified trainers may begin training their slaves for sex work as young as 14 years old. (There are several main categories of slaves: Domestic, Companion and Military, as well as some sub-categories: Sexual, Cleaning/Maintenance, Hard Labor/Construction, Semi-skilled, to name a few.) 
> 
> Most middle-class families own a slave, though some choose not to and others stretch their budgets to have more than one. 
> 
> Parents may sell their minor children into slavery, and many do so to avoid slavery themselves because of overwhelming debt. Children are cheaper to buy than adults, however they require more training and upkeep than adults, so they're usually purchased by corporations in large numbers to train them all at once in classes and indoctrinate them into the company's ethos. 
> 
> Theoretically, many slaves who were enslaved because of personal debt or for minor criminal acts can live long enough to fulfill their 'sentence' and be freed, however it's a rare occurrence. Often they've become so used to their life that they don't want to be freed, or they don't know that their sentence is time-limited, or they go out into the world just to be enslaved again for another infraction. 
> 
> It's not a pretty culture, but I'm going to explore it anyway.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy waits to be sold.
> 
> Trigger warning: Implied rape/rape, stealing memories, slavery, violence.

Jimmy knelt on the gray carpet with his legs spread to show off his genitals the way he’d been taught. He was naked, of course, as were the two slaves on either side of him, Cora and Mikey. This was his third time up for sale since he’d been sold to the Slave Administration Center when Mistress Bethany decided that she needed a younger and more attractive slave now that she’d finished medical school and residency and was well into her first fellowship. He didn’t know how much she’d gotten for him, but he’d been a gift from her parents for getting into medical school in the first place, so she hadn’t paid for him at all.  


He’d been much younger and more attractive then, just finished with his own fellowship and ready to take the boards for a specialty in oncology. He’d been the perfect slave for a young woman ready to take on medical school and the world. A tutor, an expensive possession to brag about, and a ready sexual outlet. Just what the doctor ordered.  


He wondered, idly, if she regretted her decision to sell him. He would have preferred to stay with her than be sold back for retraining and re-sale. It was always harder to sell used slaves, and he’d had a pretty cushy deal as a slave owned by a private individual. She was a reasonable Mistress, and she specialized in oncology, which had made him feel more at home helping her and attending her classes and internships. She was also kind about lending him out to friends and colleagues, actually asking if he wanted the opportunity. He never said no. No slave said no to their Master or Mistress, especially about that kind of thing. It was drilled into his head during his first round of slave training, and reinforced once he was back at the SAC this time.  


Beside him, Cora shifted on her knees. She was young and soft and pretty. Very docile and willing to spread her legs for anyone, according to the handlers, who liked to gossip with each other whenever they got the chance. It was part of the slave training, also, to treat them like the objects they’d become. Cora had just finished nursing school when she’d been enslaved, according to the gossip, and she’d been enslaved after being convicted of selling narcotics on the street to pad her income while she looked for a job.  


There were very few crimes that led to immediate enslavement, and drug trafficking was one of them. So was murder, but those slaves often had to be completely mind-wiped to be of any use to anyone. Jimmy didn’t like to think about mind-wiped slaves.  


Mikey, the other slave on show this morning, was middle-aged, balding, and much more plump than any slave had a right to be. He was one of the many slaves who turned themselves in (or were dragged in, kicking and screaming) when their debt became too much to pay off. Parents could sell their minor children, and adults could sell themselves to save their families, but being hauled in was far more common. Those slaves got mind-wiped as well. Mikey had sold himself to protect his wife and children from foreclosure on their house, he’d bragged to Jimmy and anyone who would listen during the brief mealtimes when slaves were permitted to speak to each other. Mikey wasn’t a mind-wipe at all, he’d said, and though he didn’t know his last name, he said that his wife’s name was Janet and his children were Michael Jr. and Rosalie.  


He would never see any of them again because it was illegal for someone to buy a former family member. Most of the other slaves said that he was making it all up, and Jimmy believed them. All slaves were mind-wiped to one degree or another.  


Jimmy had been caught on the “Three Strike” rule that said that all offenders who pled guilty or were convicted of three crimes were sentenced to slavery to give back to society for what they’d done. Jimmy’s crimes would have been labeled “white collar,” if he’d had only two. As it were, he took things a step too far and lost his freedom, dignity, and identity.  


It was embarrassing, really, how he got in trouble, Jimmy thought in the dead of night when he had a moment to himself to actually think. A speeding ticket from his home state of Connecticut when he was 16, never paid, that led to an arrest warrant that led to a conviction for attempting to run from an arrest because it had been so long without payment or turning himself in for a crime he’d long since forgotten about. A med school prank that went too far, and a patient so upset about his treatment that he filed a lawsuit against the hospital and the attending doctor and the three medical students assigned to his case. The patient had won, and everyone had been convicted of a misdemeanor. Jimmy hadn’t taken part in the prank, nor had he even known about it until afterwards, but he’d been blamed nonetheless because his name was on the patient's medical record.  


And then the third strike: drunk & disorderly and resisting arrest. It was the nail on his coffin, so to speak, coming on the heels of being served divorce papers while at a medical conference in New Orleans. That was eight years ago. He no longer remembered his ex-wife’s name. He no longer remembered his own name. He didn’t know if he’d had children, or friends, or colleagues who’d wondered where he disappeared to so suddenly. All he knew was that he’d been a doctor, probably a good one to be as young as he’d been, and that he’d failed at life so badly that he’d been made a slave.  


There was a three-strike rule for sales, as well. If he wasn’t purchased today, Jimmy would be mind-wiped back to “baseline,” retrained, and sold for much less to a company like Rent-A-Slave who hired out their slaves to organizations and people who needed the help but couldn’t afford their own or the upkeep required.  


The mind-wipe technology had existed since the mid-forties, when the Americans discovered Nazi research in Poland and Germany. They took the notes, modified them, and began a program to forcibly take any and all personal memories from slaves. The slaves used in the studies didn’t have a say in the matter. By the early-eighties, the technology was so widely used and safe that having a slave who hadn’t been mind-wiped was seen as a liability to the owner and required a higher insurance premium.  


Everything changed with computers. Suddenly, the mind-wipe could be controlled more precisely, and the occupation of the slave before he or she became a slave meant a lot of money to the SAC and slave stable owners. Jimmy had been one of the first slaves to be given the “Mind-Wipe Level 1” treatment, which allowed him to keep all of his medical knowledge and skills, but made it impossible to remember anything about himself, his family, or his life before enslavement.  


The SAC had been continuing its research, and Jimmy knew that there were now three stages of mind-wipe. Level 1: the slave still had prior knowledge and skills, and kept a sense of self (as a slave) and personality (modified slightly to fit slavery). Level 2: skills and knowledge were preserved, but personality and selfhood were eliminated. Level 3: complete mind-wipe. The slave had to be retrained on reading, writing, arithmetic, and basic skills such as personal hygiene. Not that most slaves were given much opportunity for personal hygiene, but they were supposed to know how to do it. And cook, clean, organize, garden, spread their legs or bend over whenever a freeman ordered them to. Or anything else their owner wanted them to know.  


Jimmy had been exclusively heterosexual before his enslavement. He knew that because training to pleasure men had been distasteful at first, while pleasing women had come naturally. He’d learned to tolerate the experience of being taken by a man, like all good slaves were required to do. Female or male, a slave was expected to cater to the sexual needs of whichever freeman or freewoman was in front of them. Or behind, as was often the case.  


“…Please, call me Stacy,” a woman said as the door opened. Jimmy saw slender calves, stylish heels, and an expensive leather briefcase when the woman sat in the visitor’s chair opposite the Sales Manager’s desk. The Sales Manager, a young man named Mr. Riley, took his own seat.  


“As you requested,” Mr. Riley began, gesturing to the naked slaves kneeling on the floor. “These are our most promising specimens that met your requirements.”  


“No females,” Stacy said. “Do you have another male we could look at?”  


Mr. Riley cleared his throat and pressed a button on his desk. One of the slave handlers opened the door. “Please take Cora back to the holding area,” he said. “And bring Blake when you return.”  


“Yes, sir,” the man answered, walking over to clip a leash on Cora’s collar. He tugged her to her feet and escorted her out.  


Jimmy lost the sudden elation that had come when he thought he’d have a fifty-fifty chance at getting sold. Blake would undoubtedly be the one this woman picked. He was tall, muscular, handsome, and not very bright. He was also well-endowed, and the female handlers made no secret of how much they enjoyed using him when they were on break. Perfect for an attractive woman like this Stacy. Beside him, Mikey made a small noise of disappointment. Mikey was also on his third try for being sold. Blake, on the other hand, hadn’t yet been put up for sale. He’d only been with the New Jersey SAC for three weeks, having completed his initial training at the larger SAC branch in New York.  


Jimmy had been trained in New Orleans, where he’d been found guilty and collared, the colloquial term for being enslaved. He’d gone with Mistress Bethany to California for her schooling, then to Cleveland for her residency, and finally to Boston for her fellowship, where she’d sold him. The Massachusetts SAC had an abundance of medically-trained MW-1 slaves, and he’d been sent first to New York, and then to New Jersey, where it was thought he might bring a higher price, as MW-1 slaves with medical training weren’t as common.  


Jimmy tried to remain calm. All three of the slaves, four if one counted Cora, were MW-1, meaning they all had the skills from their previous lives. All four of them had medical training of one kind or another. Blake had been a paramedic, 24 years old, and was busted for driving under the influence while on duty. Three times. Jimmy had better medical training than either male, and while he hadn’t been practicing for eight years, he was smarter than both of them put together, and his knowledge and skills had more practical applications than Mikey’s plastic surgery practice.  


Jimmy hoped that he’d be good enough.  


Stacy and Mr. Riley chatted while they waited for Blake to be brought in. It seemed like she was looking to purchase a slave for a friend who’d had some complicated medical procedures recently and needed a competent slave to look after him. Jimmy suppressed his frown. Another point to Blake, who was probably better suited to a situation like that.  


Once Blake arrived, Stacy began asking about particulars of the different slaves and their skills. She wanted more details than most potential buyers wanted in Jimmy’s experience, and she paid special attention to the educational background and applied knowledge of the slaves. She asked about criminal records, history of substance abuse before enslavement, and work history as a slave. She dismissed Mikey almost immediately, to Jimmy’s relief. The she had him and Blake stand and move and speak. Mr. Riley asked if she’d like to see them stimulated sexually, and Jimmy saw the frown of distaste on her face. He wondered if that was a point in his favor, since he wasn’t as prized in that arena. She asked about training and discipline, how they responded to commands, how they responded to anger and pain. She wanted to know about their temperaments and personalities.  


Then she asked about price. Jimmy and Blake were removed from the room for that part of the discussion, left kneeling tethered to hitching posts in the holding room. Cora and Mikey were absent, though there were several other slaves waiting for their turns in front of buyers.  


“She’s gonna take me,” Blake said confidently.  


“She’d be a fool,” Jimmy replied. “She obviously wants someone who can think on his feet and adapt to change.”  


“Naw, you should’ve seen how she looked at me. She wants me.”  


“She’s buying a slave for a friend,” Jimmy felt the need to point out.  


“But if this guy’s a friend, she’d come to visit.”  


“We’ll see,” Jimmy mumbled, trying to project calmness when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry at the unfairness of the world and what had happened to him.  


At the end of the room, the main door opened and two slave handlers walked in. One had a leash in his hands while the other held a black hood and manacles. It was time. One of them would leave with Mistress Stacy, one of them would be left to the SAC’s mercies.  


“Looks like it’s your lucky day, Jimmy-boy,” one of the handlers said, hefting the manacles. “Now be a good boy and bend over for us one more time before we have to say goodbye.”  


.  


.  


.

Mistress Stacy gave orders in a quick, professional manner, expecting to be obeyed. It was clear that she was used to slaves and ordering them to do things. Jimmy thought that this was an advantage, since she didn’t seem hesitant about what she wanted from him. Early on, Mistress Bethany had gotten in trouble with the SAC for not treating him appropriately. He was a slave, not a person, and treating him like a friend was not allowed. 

Jimmy found himself strapped in a slave harness in the back of a car, dark hood in place. He had no idea where he was being taken, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. When they arrived, she ordered him to empty the trunk and carry all the items inside an apartment building. He did so without question, of course. 

Portable slave cage, 20-pound bag of Slave Chow, and a box full of equipment for caring for and disciplining a slave all went into the apartment on the first floor. 221B, Jimmy noted. He snickered to himself when he had the chance, for he’d loved Sherlock Holmes novels when Mistress Bethany allowed him to read fiction. The mailbox said G. House and S. Connor. He wondered if G. House was the friend Mistress Stacy mentioned in her conversation with Mr. Riley. A roommate, perhaps? A lover? 

Mistress Stacy unlocked the front door and had him put everything in the living room, next to a baby grand piano that took up a significant percentage of the room. The Slave Chow went in the kitchen, under the sink. She disappeared into the single bedroom, ordering him to clean the kitchen, bathroom and living room as she left. 

Everything was as spotless as he could make it when Mistress Stacy returned, pulling a large suitcase behind her. Wordlessly, he took it from her and loaded it into the trunk of the car. He added the other two, as well. It was clear to him that Mistress Stacy was moving out. Jimmy cleaned the bedroom as assigned, making it look as if there were only one occupant. G. House would be in for a big surprise when he (or she) returned home that evening. Probably a man, Jimmy thought, from the clothing. 

Jimmy carried several boxes of books and music into the car and strapped himself into the harness at her order. They started driving. After an hour or so, Mistress Stacy stopped and had him carry everything into a new apartment. There was a bed, a couch, and minimal furniture. It looked freshly painted. 

Mistress Stacy was driving again when her cell phone rang. Jimmy listened attentively from under his hood because she put it on speaker-phone so she could continue driving. It was always good to listen, Jimmy knew. He could find out a lot of things by being quiet and listening. 

_“Where are you? I’ve been waiting at this hellhole for the last half-hour!”_ The man’s voice was angry and frustrated. _“And why’d you take my car?”_

Mistress Stacy sighed softly before she answered. “My car’s in the shop, and I knew you wouldn’t be using yours. I’m on my way back right now. You should take a cab, though. You don’t want to wait too long, do you?” 

_“You’ve got a lot of nerve, leaving me here like this. I’m in pain!”_

“I know, Greg, and I’m sorry. Just go home, ok?” 

The line went dead, presumably because “Greg” hung up. Jimmy allowed himself to frown. Was this “Greg” the friend Mistress Stacy purchased him for? Why would she buy him and then move out? 

Something about the man’s name clicked in Jimmy’s head. He remembered. Gregory House, MD, was a world-renowned diagnostician, and one of the most brilliant minds in medicine. He could diagnose patients that no other doctor could even begin to comprehend. He never lectured, but Mistress Bethany had dreamed of working at his hospital and meeting the man who had single-handedly created the Diagnostics specialty. 

Would Jimmy be owned by Dr. House? He shivered in his harness and hood. Would he be able to be around such an intelligent and dedicated man? Would a man like Dr. House actually use him, Jimmy, a slave? He hoped so. He remembered a photograph he’d seen of Dr. House on Mistress Bethany’s computer. The man was close to forty, eight or nine years older than Jimmy, and rather handsome, in a rugged kind of way. Jimmy had been drawn to the man’s eyes in the photograph. Such deep, blue eyes. He wondered if they’d be as blue in person or if it had been some high-tech colorization in the journal. 

The car stopped, and Mistress Stacy got out. She walked over and opened the door, removing Jimmy’s hood and unhooking the harness. She handed him an envelope, a key and a small box. It looked like one of the velvet-covered boxes that held engagement rings. 

“Make sure Greg gets these,” she said. “You belong to him, now. Take care of him,” she added, giving his hair a ruffle. She turned Jimmy towards the apartment building. “It won’t be easy, but you’re all he’s got,” she whispered. 

Steeling himself, Jimmy went into the building and knocked on the apartment door of his new Master. 

“Use your fucking key!” Jimmy’s new Master shouted. He sounded just as angry as he had on the phone, and Jimmy paused. Did he really want to walk into an apartment to an angry man who’d just been left by his girlfriend? No, he didn’t want to, but he had to. He’d been ordered to come in. 

Apparently, he’d hesitated for too long because the door was thrown open and a tall man stood in front of him. Using elbow crutches to keep standing, the man had pain lines around his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes took in Jimmy in a nanosecond, from his brown hair and brown eyes down to his standard-issue white t-shirt, gray pants, and flip flops. His eyes lingered on the simple black leather collar. 

“Who the fuck do you belong to?” Master Greg demanded. 

“You, sir,” Jimmy said, not meeting the man’s eyes. He wasn’t allowed to look at his Master’s face unless ordered to, though he’d managed a quick glimpse before he’d been able to help the curiosity about his new Master and lower his gaze. Master Greg had the most beautiful blue eyes Jimmy had ever seen. “Mistress Stacy —“ 

“She bought you for me? What is she thinking? I don’t need a goddamned slave!” Master Greg looked around the corridor and noticed that Jimmy was alone. “I assume you were the one to clean in here?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You fucked up my stuff. I can’t find anything.” 

“This slave is sorry, sir,” Jimmy exclaimed, dropping to his knees and lowering himself to expose his back to receive punishment. “Please punish this slave for the —“ 

“Shut up!” 

Jimmy’s mouth snapped shut. He waited anxiously. 

“Huh, well, better come in. Did she say when she’d be back?” Master Greg turned to go back into the apartment without waiting for an answer. Jimmy crawled inside and locked the door behind himself. He got back on his knees and reconsidered his position. Maybe Master Greg preferred to punish his slave in privacy? Maybe he needed to get a crop or cane? Maybe he needed to put Jimmy in a particular location so he could keep off his feet and prevent extra pain while he punished his slave? 

No matter what, though, Jimmy had to answer the question. 

“No, sir. She told me to give these to you, sir,” Jimmy said, holding up the items in his hands. Master Greg didn’t even look at him. 

“It’s early, but go get dinner ready. She stocked up the fridge, so you should be able to make something of it. You can cook, right?” 

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy answered. He received a wave telling him to make himself useful in the kitchen. 

Jimmy tried to ignore Master Greg’s pained hobbling as he moved to the couch in the living room. There was a monster truck rally on the muted tv screen. Master Greg turned up the sound, clearly dismissing Jimmy from his thoughts. He’d gotten away without a punishment? How had that happened? Masters could (and often did) punish their slaves for anything! 

Jimmy left the key, box, and letter on the piano bench and tried not to think about it. Maybe Master Greg was being lenient because Jimmy was new? Jimmy allowed himself a silent sigh. Once in the kitchen, he quickly took stock of the foodstuffs available and began cooking. He took a few surreptitious looks at his Master’s profile while he cooked. Master Greg was even more attractive than he’d initially thought. Tall and thin, with brown hair that was thinning slightly, he looked every bit the active man he had probably been before whatever happened to his body that required a medically-trained slave to care for him. 

Not knowing Master Greg’s tastes, Jimmy made a simple pasta dish with chicken and asparagus. He steered clear of anything that was a common allergen. As he presented the meal to Master Greg, he hoped it would be adequate for his needs. He actually hoped Master Greg would praise him, but he didn’t hold his breath waiting for that. 

“Bring me a beer,” Master Greg mumbled around his first bite of food. He’d taken a huge bite, Jimmy noticed, and seemed content with the food so far. He hadn’t spit it out, at any rate. Perhaps the cooking lessons Mistress Bethany sent him to would help him with his new Master as they had with her? Jimmy returned with a beer and sunk to the floor in a kneeling position beside the couch. By being there he wasn’t in the way of the television and could be forgotten about if Master Greg wanted to forget him, but he was also nearby in case Master Greg had other uses for him. 

Now that he’d seen Master Greg in person, he found himself wondering if Master Greg would use him sexually. 

Jimmy wanted to be used by this man, he realized, and not just because he was Jimmy’s Master. He was a handsome man, in a non-conventional way, and something about his appearance made Jimmy’s stomach twist in anticipation of being used. He thought about how he would suck Master Greg’s cock and give him an orgasm to help him with the pain of whatever injury he had. He thought about Master Greg’s hand in his hair as he held his head steady while he fucked his mouth. He thought about the burn as Master Greg fucked him in the ass. 

He imagined Master Greg clipping his tag to his collar, thereby telling the world that Jimmy was his to use exclusively. That Jimmy was _his._

Jimmy cursed silently to himself. He was getting an erection, and that wouldn’t do. He couldn’t show arousal unless ordered to, when it wasn’t a sexual situation. He’d never seen his new Master naked and he wanted him to use him, though. What was wrong with him? In his entire life, he’d never _wanted_ to be used before. Before he became a slave, Jimmy had probably enjoyed sex. He’d had a natural talent for pleasing women during his slave training, so he must have had practice, and as a freeman, he’d have chosen it. As a slave he didn’t have that choice. He accepted that he’d be used by men and women, especially his Mistress or Master and their friends, but he’d never wanted it before. He’d never caught himself fantasizing about what it could be like. 

He shut his eyes and thought about slave training, about being back at the SAC, about the beatings and punishments he’d gotten. He thought about the few times he’d been whipped. He was lucky, he knew. He’d been an obedient slave for his Mistress and she’d been kind, preferring to cane him in place of whippings. Thinking about the whippings made him remember them, and his erection went down quickly. He wasn’t one of those slaves who got off on pain. He’d seen enough of them around to know. 

Jimmy was doing the dishes and wondering when Master Greg would allow him his usual dinnertime serving of Slave Chow when he heard the roar of anger from the other room. Rushing into the living room, he found Master Greg standing by the piano holding the letter and box Mistress Stacy had given him before. Master Greg opened the box. He started cursing, colorfully, and threw the box as hard as he could against the wall. The contents, a silver slave tag that presumably had his name and address, as well as Jimmy’s name and serial number, flew across the room. 

“Master —“ 

“You knew about this!” Master Greg interrupted. “You knew she was leaving me! You knew, and you made dinner like nothing was wrong? Get the fuck out!” He motioned to the door. “I’m sending you back!” he added, catching himself as he almost fell, overbalanced on the crutches. Jimmy ran forward and grabbed him to keep him standing, instinct as both a slave protecting his Master and a doctor trying to keep someone from pain kicking in with a vengeance. It was clear to him that Master Greg was already in a lot of pain and didn’t need more. 

“Don’t touch me!” Master Greg snarled, pushing Jimmy away and falling to the floor. “Get out!” 

. 

. 

. 


	2. Rejected Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House threw his new slave, Jimmy, out of his apartment upon leaning that Stacy left him and gave him Jimmy as a replacement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is a slave-fic. There's rape, dehumanization and violence, among other unsavory things. Lots of trigger warnings warnings, especially for non-con. Read at your own discretion.

“Get out!” 

His new Master’s order ringing in his ears, Jimmy bolted from the apartment. He didn’t slam the door, though. He wasn’t allowed to damage anything of his Master’s, so he had to be careful with the door. Once in the hallway he sank to his knees on the welcome mat in front of his Master’s door. He wasn’t allowed to leave and he knew from living with his previous Mistress that sometimes owners just wanted their slaves out of sight and mind, especially when they were feeling emotional. He would wait. 

Master Greg probably wanted privacy when he was so emotional about learning that Mistress Stacy had left him, buying a slave to replace herself. He probably wanted to be able to get to his feet without a stranger seeing him, even though Jimmy didn’t count as a stranger, being a slave. He wasn’t a person. His training at the SAC made it impossible to forget. He felt sorry for Master Greg. He wished Mistress Stacy had treated him better and told him in person. He wished her last words to Master Greg weren’t _“just go home.”_

Jimmy continued thinking about Master Greg as he waited, conjuring images of how he would ease Master Greg’s pain. Most of the images involved serving Master Greg sexually. 

Was it possible to fall in love at first sight? Jimmy asked himself. If it was possible, he was pretty sure that had happened to him. How else could he explain what he was feeling? He wanted to do everything for Master Greg. He wanted to make him happy. He wanted to take away his pain. He wanted to simply be in his presence. 

He’d never wanted Mistress Bethany like this. He’d never felt like he needed her. Oh, as a slave, he needed a Master or Mistress, but there was something about Master Greg that spoke to Jimmy on a far deeper level than simply wanting to please his owner. He wanted to please the _man_. 

. 

. 

. 

Jimmy’s knees hurt from kneeling on the rough mat, but he didn’t allow it to effect his form. He knelt, head down, hands behind his back, waiting. It had been hours, and there was no sign that his Master would let him back into the apartment any time soon. He’d heard his Master moving around, the strange step-thump-drag of using the crutches extremely distinctive. He’d heard Master Greg shouting, though he hadn’t been able to make out the words. 

Jimmy wondered what had happened to his Master that he needed crutches. Did he have a congenital illness, like cerebral palsy, or had he been injured at some time? He had both legs, Jimmy was sure, even after the short time they’d spent in the same room. His Master favored his right leg, so that was the lame or injured one. Jimmy, had he any money, would have bet on an injury. His Master wasn’t proficient enough at using the crutches for it to be anything but a recent injury. Mistress Stacy mentioned something during the sales meeting, hadn’t she? Something about needing to buy a slave with medical experience as a gift for someone who often needed medical attention but was too stubborn to allow strangers to care for him. A slave would have no choice but to care for his Master in whatever ways the Master desired. 

The door to the building opened, and a man walked in. Jimmy perfected his posture while the man checked his mailbox. 

“Well, look what we have here,” the man said, clearly intrigued to have a slave in front of him. “Who do you belong to, boy?” 

“This slave belongs to Dr. House, sir,” Jimmy answered in a deferential voice. He wasn’t allowed to lie to a freeman, nor was he allowed to refuse to answer. 

“That asshole can afford a slave?” the man demanded, laughing harshly. “Bastard hasn’t been to work in weeks, and he can afford you? Look at me, boy!” the man ordered. Jimmy raised his head. The man grabbed his chin and turned his head back and forth, bending slightly to get a better look at him. The man dropped his hand and grunted. Jimmy let his head fall back into form. “Come here,” the man ordered, tugging on Jimmy’s hair to pull him to his feet. 

Reluctantly, Jimmy followed. He knew what was coming, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He wished his Master hadn’t been so angry. He wished his Master had remembered to tag him before he sent him away. A part of him wished his Master had used him, claimed him, fucked him. He didn’t want his first sexual experience in this new life to be with someone who wasn’t his Master. 

Jimmy didn’t have a choice, however, and since his Master hadn’t put his tag on his collar yet, any freeman or freewoman was allowed to use him as long as they didn’t damage him. 

“On your knees,” the man barked as soon as they were in a small alcove that didn’t have a sight-line to his Master’s door, and Jimmy found himself kneeling before he consciously thought about doing it, thanks to the extensive training and recent retraining at the SAC. The man dropped his mail to the floor and opened his fly. “Suck it.” 

Jimmy got to work, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to look at the man using him. The man was rough, and tugged painfully on Jimmy’s hair as he sought his own pleasure. Jimmy relaxed his throat as he’d been taught and let his mind wander. 

Would his new Master use him like this? Would he be as rough, or would he allow Jimmy to set the pace occasionally? Would he taste better than this man, who was bitter and smelly and clearly hadn’t been particularly careful about his personal hygiene that day? Jimmy shuddered internally at the thought that the man would want Jimmy to lick lower than his cock and the smell of that area. Fortunately, this man wasn’t particularly inventive in his orders, simply barking commands for harder, deeper, stronger, more. 

Thinking about Master Greg made Jimmy wish it was Master Greg’s dick in his mouth. He wanted Master Greg’s dick in his mouth. Or in his hand. Or in his ass. Especially his ass. He almost let himself imagine that this man was Master Greg, but he stopped himself just in time. He wanted his first experience with Master Greg to be all about Master Greg, not about remembering this man. 

Jimmy’s eyes drifted open and he noticed the mail on the floor. Everything was addressed to Brad Dobson, of apartment 221F. There were three bills, a copy of Maxim, and an accounting newsletter. Nothing interesting, but it gave Jimmy a little information about the man who lived upstairs. He’d learned very quickly that knowing as much as possible about the freemen and -women around a slave gave him the illusion of control or power. Sometimes, a slave could use that information to better his or her situation, like the time Jimmy had used Mistress Bethany’s fear of spiders to give himself time to hide a candy bar where she wouldn’t look for it so he could have a treat when she next left him home while she went on a date. 

Jimmy did _not_ want to know that Mr. Dobson had urine stains on his tightie whities, but it could come in handy. 

Fortunately, Dobson must have been in the middle of a dry spell, because he came very quickly. He also didn’t waste any time putting himself back in his pants and leaving, muttering to himself about not wanting House to find out he’d used his slave without permission and risk retaliation. Jimmy stored that fact away as he resettled himself on his Master’s mat. His Master was known to “retaliate?” He wondered what that meant. 

Dobson turned back and ordered Jimmy to keep quiet about being used. Jimmy answered with the expected ‘yes, sir,’ but it wouldn’t be an order he could follow if his Master asked about it. He wasn’t allowed to lie to anyone free, but especially not to his Master. Mistress Bethany had loaned him out to a few of her colleagues to be used, and one of them had ordered him not to tell her what he’d done to Jimmy, but he’d had to tell her when she asked because she noticed the cane marks on his legs. She hadn’t allowed that colleague near him after that. Jimmy wouldn’t be able to volunteer the information, though, much as he wanted to. Masters’ orders only trumped other freepersons’ orders when they conflicted. 

Over the course of the evening, two straight couples, a single woman, and three single men came into the building. They all asked who he belonged to, and none of them seemed happy to hear that “House” had a slave. One of the couples speculated that Stacy had finally left him and gotten him the slave as a “consolation prize.” The man snickered to his female partner that it was all that House deserved, being such a bastard, and that a woman like Stacy had been too good for him, anyway. The couple went off to their apartment detailing to each other why Stacy might have left and what better things she could be doing, not saddled with House. She was a lawyer, it seemed, and didn’t need House. 

All three of the single men used Jimmy for blow jobs before they went to their apartments. Jimmy surreptitiously watched them get their mail and by the time he fell into a fitful sleep that night, he knew who lived where. Eight units in the building, 9 people other than his Master. Maybe learning all that would make his Master proud? Or at least keep him from being angry? 

All six men used Jimmy before they left the building the next morning. Two kept to blow jobs, but the others fucked him, and Jimmy’s ass hadn’t felt this sore since his first night back at the SAC when half a dozen handlers took their turn with him to help him “readjust” to slave life under “normal” owners who didn’t spoil him the way Mistress Bethany had. One of the women gave him some chocolate after she made him lie back while she rode him to orgasm. 

The idea that House’s slave was up for grabs seemed to create a stir in the building, and everyone was taking advantage of the opportunity. Jimmy figured that no one else owned a slave, something that was confirmed by the horny housewife who wanted a second round after her soaps. Dobson came back on his lunch break on the off-chance that House hadn’t let his slave back inside his apartment and brought three friends with him after work. 

Dobson and his friends allowed Jimmy to crawl back to House’s mat when they were done. He was too weak to stand, having had no food except the chocolate bar since breakfast at the SAC before he’d been sold. Slaves weren’t given lunch, and he’d been sent away before he’d gotten dinner. He also hadn’t been able to drink anything except the cum from the men, and he knew he was dehydrated. 

He lay on the mat, unable to kneel, trying desperately to hold in his urine and keep silent. He wasn’t allowed to disturb his Master. He must have done something horrible to be banished from the apartment for 36 hours, but he couldn’t remember what. His thoughts moved sluggishly. He’d failed. He’d be beaten. Maybe he’d be returned to the SAC and sold to the garbage collectors, or mind-wiped back to Level 3 and need to be retaught how do dress himself. 

He’d displeased his new Master. 

Tears of shame fell as his bladder released, urine dripping over his thighs, the mat, and onto the floor. 

Unable to control himself and humiliated by his own body’s inability to maintain the physically impossible challenge of holding his urine for so long, Jimmy passed out. 

. 

. 

. 


	3. Jimmy Needs a Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's pissed himself in the front hallway. How will his new Master react?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slave-fic. Non-con and violence permeate the whole thing.

The door opening behind Jimmy woke him from the nightmare of being strapped down to be mind-wiped. It wasn’t a memory, per se, but it was close enough. He’d watched it happen to other slaves, and it was easy to imagine oneself in that position. He opened his eyes and tried to get on his knees and kneel for his Master. He managed to roll over to face the open doorway. 

“This slave is sorry, sir,” he croaked, his voice reedy and thin. “Please, sir, this slave is sorry.” 

“You’re still here.” 

The surprise in his Master’s voice confused Jimmy. Where else would he have gone? He belonged to his Master. He couldn’t leave. 

“Let me serve you, sir,” Jimmy begged. “Please, let this slave show you that he can be good. Please let this slave clean up his mess. Please let this slave —“ 

“Shut up!” 

Jimmy shut his mouth faster than he thought possible. His Master was still angry with him. He moaned. 

“I can’t carry you. Can you get inside the apartment on your own?” his Master asked, his voice shifting to concern. Jimmy became even more confused. Why would his Master be concerned when he was so angry at Jimmy? It didn’t matter. Jimmy understanding his Master’s motivations was immaterial. His Master had asked a question, and he had to answer. 

“I think so, sir.” 

“Good. Get in here and go to the bathroom. Use the toilet if you need it. There’s a mat by the tub, rest there.” His Master hobbled off, crutches thumping along with him. 

It took Jimmy far longer to get to the bathroom than he thought his Master would allow, but when he got there, his Master hadn’t arrived yet. He sat on the toilet and released his bladder and bowels with a grateful groan. When he was finished he flushed and looked around to figure out what to do. He’d been told to rest on the bathmat. Jimmy lowered himself to the soft rug and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“Wake up.” 

Jimmy jerked into a sitting position, but dizziness made his head swim and he felt himself passing out again. He felt a hand under his head supporting him as he slid sideways and down. 

“Don’t sit up yet. I’m going to give you some water and food, ok? Don’t drink too quickly. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” he answered. 

“Don’t call me sir. That’s the first rule. _Never_ call me sir. Got it?” 

“Yes, si — Yes, Master Greg.” 

“Try again.” 

“Yes…Dr. House?” Jimmy suggested. 

“I suppose that’ll do,” his Master grumbled. He filled a plastic cup with water from the tap and handed it to Jimmy, then dropped two protein bars next to his head. “I’m going to examine you once you’ve had that water and food. I told Stacy to come and take you back, but I guess I was wrong about her doing it.” He grunted. “Guess I was wrong about a lot of things,” he muttered to himself. 

Jimmy ate the bars and drank the water as quietly as he could. His Master refilled the cup twice. When he started feeling better, Jimmy looked around. His Master sat on the closed toilet lid, his crutches propped up against the wall. He had a blue backpack next to him, from which he took a stethoscope, a black garbage bag, and an orange medication bottle. He put the stethoscope around his neck and handed Jimmy the bag. 

“Strip off and put the clothes in there.” He shook two white pills into his palm and dry-swallowed them. Once Jimmy was naked, Dr. House stood and used the wall to hold himself steady as he listened to Jimmy’s heart, lungs and stomach. He wobbled and sank down onto the toilet with a pained grunt. He checked Jimmy’s pupils, his ears, his throat. He felt his glands and lymph nodes. He examined the scars on Jimmy’s back from the times he’d been whipped. Each one was in his file, so Dr. House could look them up later, if he wanted. He took a blood sample. Finally Dr. House pulled on latex gloves and got out a tube of lubricant. He carefully examined Jimmy’s penis and testicles. He seemed satisfied with their size and shape, and didn’t encourage Jimmy into an erection to examine that. 

“Bend over, I’m going to check your prostate,” Dr. House said gently. 

Even though he knew it was coming, Jimmy felt the blood leaving his face. He’d been used many times over the last few days, and his Master would find out. How angry would he be? Would he think Jimmy had asked for it? Not all of the men had used condoms! He could be carrying something that would pass on to his Master as soon as he used him. Jimmy closed his eyes so he couldn’t see his Master’s expression. He started shaking. 

“Calm down,” Dr. House said, resting a gloved hand on Jimmy’s lower back. “I won’t hurt you. I’m not going to use you. It’s just an exam.” 

Jimmy bent over. He felt tears gathering at the edges of his eyes but forced them back. He wouldn’t cry in front of his Master. Not when he wasn’t being hurt. Not when he’d just met him. 

Not when he suspected he was already in love with him. 

Dr. House didn’t say anything during the examination. It was professional, the kind Jimmy would get if he were allowed a doctor. Nothing sexual about it. Dr. House pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the garbage bag with the urine soaked clothing. 

“You can sit down again.” 

Jimmy settled on his knees, holding his hands behind his back. 

“No, hands in front. I don’t want to see your hands behind your back or on your neck unless I specifically tell you to put them there. That’s rule two.” 

Jimmy carefully placed his hands on his thighs. He sat up straighter, though he didn’t meet his Master’s eyes. “Thank you, Dr. House.” 

Dr. House grunted. He seemed to do that a lot in place of talking. His eyes flickered around the room, then found their way back to Jimmy. “Which of the assholes in the building used you? When and how? Did they use condoms?” His voice was soft, firm, and dark. Jimmy blurted out all the details in a frenzied rush, needing to confess because he felt ashamed that they’d used him, not just because his Master had asked. There were a few minutes of silence. “So, basically, all of them except Paula, the big closeted dyke,” House finally said, naming the married woman in 221C. Jimmy didn’t think he needed to answer, so he stayed quiet. 

“Did any of them bring friends over to use you? I wouldn't put it past Dobson. He's a little weasel." Jimmy gave him the details, as well as the slim bits of identifying information he'd figured out about Dobson's friends. Dr. House frowned to himself before speaking again. 

"Well, no one tore anything, so we don’t have to worry about that, but I’ll have to do an STI panel and repeat it in a month, just to be sure. If one of them gave you anything, I’m gonna sue their shirts off their backs!” 

Dr. House muttered angrily to himself about idiots using slaves without protection, ending with the declaration that AIDS wouldn’t be an epidemic if people were as careful with slaves’ bodies and health as they were with each other. 

“I have to leave in a few minutes, so I’m going to give you a list of things to do while I’m gone. Will you need to write them down, or can you remember? I assume you can read and write.” 

“Yes, Dr. House, I can read and write. I’ll remember your orders.” 

Dr. House ran his fingers through his hair. He seemed to be thinking through what he wanted to say. 

“Once I’m gone, clean yourself up. Bath or shower, I don’t care, but use hot water and whatever toiletries you want. Use one of these towels. There’s probably a spare toothbrush around somewhere. And a disposable razor. Use that. You seem like the type to prefer being clean shaven, right?” 

“Yes, Dr. House. Thank you, Dr. House. Would you like me to shave my body and pubic hair as well?” 

Dr. House’s head snapped around. “What?” 

“Would you like —“ 

“I heard you, idiot. Why would you ask that?” 

“At the SAC we were shaved every three days,” Jimmy explained. “And some Masters or Mistresses prefer their slaves without hair.” 

Dr. House shook his head and rubbed his temple. “What did your previous owner want?” he asked in a tired voice. 

“Mistress Bethany ordered me to go to the groomers once a week to be completely shaved, except for my head. I was to maintain a clean-shaven face and genitals daily.” 

“That’s moronic. Of course I don’t want you to do that. Not unless you want to. It’s your body.” 

“I’m your property, Dr. House. My body belongs to you, to do with as you please.” 

“Do you want to shave your pubes every day?” 

Jimmy hesitated, unsure what he should say. On the one hand, he hated being so bald all the time. It made him feel like a child, and the hassle of maintaining it was not one he wished to start again. The SAC had allowed him to regrow his body and pubic hair in preparation for sales, though they’d shaved his chest, back and ass, and groomed his pubic hair aesthetically. On the other hand, his body belonged to his Master, so Dr. House should decide on what Jimmy did. 

There was the truth, and there was the truth his Master wanted to hear. 

“I don’t have an opinion, Dr. House,” he said softly. “Please tell me what to do.” He heard Dr. House’s aggravated sigh. 

“For God’s sake, just keep your hair however you’re most comfortable.” 

“Thank you, Dr. House.” 

“Whatever. After you’ve gotten clean, go to the kitchen and make yourself a meal. Something simple. Peanut butter, or tuna or something. You can do that? You’re not required to eat that dog food they pretend is nutritious?” 

“Yes, Dr. House, I can eat whatever you tell me to eat. I’m not required to eat Slave Chow unless you desire it.” 

“Any allergies?” 

“No, Dr. House.” 

“Good. After lunch, take a nap. Two hours. If I’m not back yet, clean up the mess in the front.” 

“Yes, Dr. House.” 

“Also, I want an inventory of all that slave shit Stacy bought. If I’m still not home, make dinner. Enough for both of us, you understand?” 

“Yes, Dr. House.” 

“Good. Use the bathroom whenever you need it, and have as much water as you want. That’s rules three and four. If fact, make a list of the rules, even the ones I haven’t given you. The ones all slaves have. I’ll want to look them over.” 

“Yes, Dr. House.” 

Dr. House nodded. He pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt out of the backpack and hung them over the towel rack, then added a pair of boxers that were probably his own and looked too small for Jimmy. “Wear that until I can get you something decent,” Dr. House said. “Don’t answer the door or phone unless it’s me. Is there anything I’m forgetting about slave etiquette and leaving you alone here?” 

“Slaves are supposed to be restrained when alone in residences,” Jimmy said promptly. “Cages are most common, however being shackled to an immovable object will suffice.” 

“Huh, well, that’s not going to apply here. I’m a cripple, and I have to keep you unshackled like this so you can come get to me at the door if I need you to.” 

Jimmy wasn’t sure how to respond. Dr. House’s tone seemed ironic, sarcastic and playful. He even winked at Jimmy. Jimmy felt a flush on his cheeks. It almost felt like Dr. House was flirting with him. But Masters didn’t flirt with slaves, did they? 

Oh, but he wanted his Master to be flirting with him! 

“Some owners get around that rule by using a shock collar programmed to keep the slave in a particular room or floor of the house,” Jimmy felt obligated to point out. 

“I’m not scrambling your brains like that. If I have to keep you, I want you in one piece and useful. I’ll tell you this now, so listen carefully. I’m a bastard. I’m an asshole and a dick, and all kinds of mean. But as a doctor, I know the kinds of things people do to slaves, and a lot of them go too far. That doesn’t mean I won’t punish you. It means I won’t be cruel about it. Understand?” 

“Yes, Dr. House.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“They call me Jimmy, Dr. House.” 

“I don’t care what they call you. What’s your name?” 

Jimmy blinked slowly. “My name?” 

“They call you Jimmy to demean you and make you feel less human, less of a person if you’re only a nickname. It’s part of training slaves to think of themselves as less than human. You had a name before. Was it Jim? James?” 

“James,” Jimmy said decisively, surprised at his own admission. He’d forgotten, but Dr. House was helping him remember. “My name’s James.” 

“James. Good. What level mind-wipe are you?” 

“One.” 

“Uh huh, and what’s the skill they let you keep?” 

“I was a doctor,” James admitted. He was proud of having been a doctor, even if he’d never be one again. He liked that he could still use his skills. “I was doing an oncology fellowship,” he added when Dr. House motioned for him to elaborate. “I would’ve taken the Boards if I hadn’t been collared.” 

“Oncology. Are you up-to-date with current treatments?” 

“Mistress Bethany allowed me to read her journals, sometimes.” 

“Your former owner? She was a doctor, too?” 

“Her parents purchased me primarily to help with her education during medical school. She kept me through her residency and partway through her own oncology fellowship.” 

“How long have you been a slave?” 

“Over eight years, Dr. House.” 

“Fucking waste,” Dr. House grumbled under his breath. Dr. House grabbed for his crutches and started leaving the bathroom. James watched him go, surprised at his Master’s behavior. True, there was no reason to say goodbye to a slave, or even talk to him the way his Master had been doing, but the mood swings and abruptness of his departure were something James knew he’d have to get used to. He heard the front door slam. 

James’s eyes moved to the bathtub. He was going to get a shower! A real shower with hot water! And soap! He felt a smile break out on his face for the first time since Mistress Bethany took him to the SAC and sold him. 

Even though he’d been ordered to shower first, James couldn’t leave the front hall smelling like urine. He cleaned that, then tidied the rest of the apartment before he allowed himself the luxury of a shower. A real shower. In a bathroom by himself, not a hose and industrial cleanser. No chance of guards deciding to use him. No chance of anyone but his Master using him, unless they broke into the house. As he stood under the blessedly hot water, James wondered how Dr. House had known to specify that he was allowed hot water rather than assuming he’d use it even though slaves weren’t permitted something like that without express permission the way most freemen would have done. 

. 

. 

. 


	4. Jimmy in Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy gets himself in trouble -- and he swears it's not his fault!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and non-con in this chapter. More so than usual. Also, police brutality mentioned.

James felt warm for the first time in a long while as he slept on the floor of the laundry room. After he’d eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich — with strawberry jelly, his favorite! — James gathered dirty laundry from around the apartment and put a load to wash. The first real food he’d been allowed since Mistress Bethany sold him, if he didn’t count the energy bars Dr. House gave him earlier, the sandwich tasted like a small bit of Heaven. He’d always liked it when Mistress Bethany gave him peanut butter as a treat, and he suspected that he’d liked it in his previous life. As the laundry washed, James wrote out the lists Dr. House wanted, paying special attention to the unwritten rules that all slaves were expected to live by that Dr. House seemed most interested in. When he’d finished his lists, the wash was done, and he put the clothes in the dryer, thereby giving him a warm room in which to take his nap. He slept on the floor, of course, slaves didn’t get to use furniture unless told. But the room was warm and smelled of dryer sheets, and he felt full and reasonably content. 

He was owned, and his Master didn’t seem cruel. Mercurial, yes, but all Masters and Mistresses were to their slaves, who couldn’t predict their actions or thoughts. At least not right away. It had taken a few months for Jimmy (for he’d been Jimmy then) to get used to Mistress Bethany’s ways and needs. He hoped it would be easier with Dr. House. 

Dr. House hadn’t punished him for not being able to hold his urine. He hadn’t punished him for moving his things when he cleaned, and he hadn’t punished him for not telling him that Mistress Stacy had left him, unless James counted being banished outside the apartment. He still could punish him, of course, that was a Master’s prerogative, but James hoped that Dr. House wouldn’t be vindictive like that. Dr. House had seemed concerned for his well-being, going so far as to feed him real food and make sure he knew to use hot water when he cleaned himself. He’d even asked about James being used by other tenants in the building, something Mistress Bethany had never once asked about. She hadn’t tagged him, either, and while Dr. House had yet to tag him, James thought it would happen at some point, even if it was only to keep others away from him as much as possible. Dr. House seemed like a possessive man and he probably wouldn’t like sharing his slave with other people. 

He hoped Dr. House would tell him what he wanted so that James could give it to him. He wanted to make Dr. House happy. 

. 

. 

. 

Knocking on the front door woke James from a dream of Master Greg using him. He was hard, and desperately wanted to give himself release, but he knew it wasn’t permitted. He wasn’t supposed to be hard unless ordered or a freeperson was using him. He reached down and tugged in just the right spot to make his erection go away. 

At the front door, he looked through the peephole and saw Mr. Dobson. He must have noticed James, because he started banging on the door again and shouting. 

“Open up! Get your ass out here right this minute!” 

James sank to his knees by the door. He wasn’t allowed to open it, and by being on the floor he would be out of sight of Mr. Dobson. After a few minutes of obscenities and threats to both James and Dr. House, Dobson got quiet. James sighed in relief and was turning to go back to the laundry room and his interrupted nap when he heard the liquid. Urine seeped under the front door. He waited in shocked silence for Mr. Dobson to leave. 

As soon as James opened the front door to clean Dobson’s urine, a rough hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out into the hallway. Dobson hadn’t left, it seemed. James was manhandled to the floor, his hands held behind his back in a tight grip and his face shoved onto the urine-soaked floor. 

“You told him, you piece of scum,” Dobson hissed, wrenching James’s arms. “Well, you’re going to get it now, you little bastard. You little shit.” Dobson worked his fly open and pulled out his penis. “Get me in trouble, why don’t you? See what it gets you! I’m gonna fuck you so hard I come in your stomach!” 

Jimmy closed his eyes and tried to relax his body. It was easier being Jimmy in this situation. Jimmy was fresh out of the SAC, ready to be used, without feelings of any kind. James was in love with Dr. House and wanted Dr. House to tag him. In his own mind, Dr. House had already tagged James. Jimmy survived other people using him. 

James was Dr. House’s slave. James was strong. James was allowed to eat peanut butter and use hot water and keep his pubic hair. 

Jimmy kept quiet as the pain of Dobson’s dry cock breaching him shot through his body. 

“Fired from my job because of you,” Dobson growled, letting go of Jimmy’s wrists so he could grab his hair and pull Jimmy’s head back painfully. “Anonymous email, my ass. House’s always had it in for me, the son of a bitch.” He thrust hard into Jimmy, grunting with effort. “Thinks he’s better than everyone because he’s a _doctor_. Thinks he’s smarter. Well, he’s dumb enough that he didn’t tag you, so you’re all mine whenever I want, boy.” He pulled on Jimmy’s hair again. “You hear me, boy? Your ass is mine! I’m gonna fuck you for every time he’s messed with me. I’m gonna fuck you every morning and every night and I’m gonna get all my friends to come fuck you, too.” 

Jimmy whimpered, the smell of urine combined with the pain making him nauseated. He felt something tear inside and couldn’t help the small moan. 

“You like this, boy, don’t you?” Dobson continued between grunts. “Such a fucking slut. All you slaves are. You’re gonna beg for my cock, aren’t you? Come on, beg. Beg me to fuck you!” 

Suddenly, everything stopped. Jimmy heard a crack, and Dobson stopped moving. He pulled out with a snarl, shoving Jimmy to the floor. Jimmy turned his head and saw his Master in the doorway of the building, one crutch extended, balancing precariously on his good leg. Had he hit Dobson? Jimmy couldn’t say, but there was no way he missed Dobson striking out at his Master, knocking the crutches out from under him. 

Dr. House fell to the floor with a cry, then screamed in pain when Dobson kicked his right leg. As Dr. House tried to curl up around his damaged thigh to protect it, Dobson threw himself onto Dr. House. Dobson’s hands found Dr. House’s throat and he started squeezing. Dr. House struggled, but he was in too much pain and too dazed to get Dobson off him. Jimmy heard choking sounds and knew his Master was in trouble. 

Before he could stop himself, not wanting to stop himself, Jimmy launched himself at Dobson, screaming in rage, and tried to pull him off his Master. He pulled at his arms, but Dobson was too strong, too intent on strangling Dr. House. Jimmy did the only thing he could think of. He sunk his teeth into the tender flesh of Dobson’s forearm. He tasted the coppery flavor of blood. 

With a roar of pain, Dobson threw Jimmy away as hard as he could. Jimmy’s head connected with the wall and he saw stars. Dobson was choking his Master again, and Jimmy tried to tackle him away. They struggled, and Jimmy got an elbow to the face and another knock on the head. His vision swam, but he couldn’t let that stop him. His Master was in trouble. 

Jimmy felt the police baton impact the back of his head before everything went black. His last thought was that he hoped his death would keep his Master alive. 

. 

. 

. 


	5. Concussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's been knocked out by the police for protecting Master Greg from Dobson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with all chapters in this story, rape/non-con, violence and degradation are a part of this world. Still a slave!fic, people.

Jimmy slowly became aware of the pain in his head. A shooting pain that crashed in waves along with his heartbeat, it made him gasp and reach up to try to touch the source. Colored spots burst in front of his eyes when he realized he was restrained at wrists and ankles. He tried to open his eyes, but the bright light was far too painful for his already aching head. 

“He needs an MRI!” his Master shouted, his voice far too loud for Jimmy’s sensitive ears. 

“He’s a slave, House, you can’t just go ordering an expensive test because he bumped his head,” a female voice protested. 

“He’s my _patient_ ,” Dr. House snarled. “And he didn’t just ‘bump his head.’ He lost consciousness and has a head wound that needs stitches. The police beat him, Cuddy! Look at the bruises!” 

“He’s a _slave_ ,” she countered, her voice full of contempt. “You need an MRI much more than he does!” 

“I don’t have a possible concussion!” 

“You can’t stand up! Something’s wrong with your leg and we need to know what —“ 

“We know what’s wrong with my leg,” his Master spat angrily. “And I’m not letting you near it again.” 

“I’m ordering you an MRI.” 

“I won’t go until he’s had his.” 

“You’re being a stubborn jerk,” she barked. “You, wheel him to nuclear imaging,” she ordered someone else. 

“Treating me without my consent? That’s low, even for you.” 

Jimmy wasn’t sure how long they would have continued arguing if he hadn’t felt a sudden sharp stabbing pain behind his eye that made him cry out. He felt a warm dry hand touch his arm. A masculine hand. 

“James? Tell me what you’re feeling?” his Master asked, his voice considerably more gentle that it had been talking to Cuddy. 

“Sharp stabbing pain behind my right eye, sir,” Jimmy answered. “Dizzy and light-headed. Waves of shooting pain corresponding to blood flow.” 

“Nausea? Blurred vision?” 

“Not now, sir. I had both before.” 

Someone shone a bright light into first one eye, then another. He tried to wince away from the pain, but the restraints kept him from moving much. 

“Pupils slow to react,” Cuddy said. 

“I’m seeing colored spots,” Jimmy reported. He wasn’t supposed to interrupt freepersons when they were in the middle of a conversation, but his Master wanted details of his condition. “Almost like vascular migraine auras.” He paused. “My arm hurts. A lot of me hurts.” 

“The police beat you pretty badly and that dickhead raped you. We’ve got you on an IV with saline and pain meds,” his Master explained. “You’re still dehydrated.” 

Jimmy felt his Master stroke his forearm. He turned his head and opened his eyes. “Master Greg!” Jimmy exclaimed, his pain forgotten. “What happened to you? Are you all right?” He struggled to get to his Master, but the restraints kept him from moving. Again. He kept forgetting about them. 

His Master was seated in a wheelchair next to Jimmy’s hospital bed, and there was a dark line of bruising around his Master’s throat. It looked like fingers had made the marks, Jimmy thought, given the pattern and coloration. The hand on his arm stopped moving. Master Greg frowned. 

“ _Master Greg?_ ” Cuddy asked, amused. She appeared behind Master Greg, wearing a white lab coat over a business suit and low-cut blouse. Her name badge indicated that she was Lisa Cuddy, MD. “You bought a slave? _You?_ Is that why you want the MRI so much, to keep your new toy healthy?” 

“He’s not a toy!” Master Greg roared, half standing, only to fall back to the wheelchair with a sharp hiss of pain. He hadn’t been able to put any weight on his right leg at all, Jimmy noticed. “He’s a going away present from Stacy,” he admitted after a moment to catch his breath. “She left me and left him in her place.” 

Dr. Cuddy’s expression became one of pity. “Oh, Greg, I’m so sorry,” she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t pity me!” he growled, shaking off the touch. 

“I’m not —“ Dr. Cuddy broke off. “She left you? When?” 

“Two days ago. Didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person. Sent James in with a note and notarized bill of sale for him.” 

“And he’s supposed to take her place?” 

Master Greg rolled his eyes. “Obviously not for everything,” he said with a half-hearted leer. “That’s what I keep you around for,” he added, and Jimmy noticed, again, the low-cut blouse. Master Greg liked breasts, it seemed. Jimmy felt his mood fall. He couldn’t supply breasts… though at the SAC there were rumors of male slaves being given breast implants so their Masters or Mistresses could enjoy both a cock and breasts on their slaves. Jimmy had been unfortunate enough to see an example of that in a porno one of Mistress Bethany’s boyfriends had watched. He shuddered as much as was possible. No matter how much he wanted to please Master Greg, he didn’t want breasts! 

Not that he would have a choice in the matter, if Master Greg ordered the surgery. 

“So, does he get an MRI or not?” Master Greg demanded. 

“Fine. But you’re going in right after him.” Dr. Cuddy turned and walked away, her heels clicking on the linoleum. 

Master Greg turned his attention back to Jimmy. He let go of Jimmy’s arm and turned his head this way and that, examining the bruises Jimmy could feel on one of his cheeks. 

“That’s gotta hurt, huh?” Master Greg asked, tracing it with a finger. Jimmy nodded silently, soothed by the touch. 

“What happened, Master Greg?” Jimmy asked. He was almost afraid to find out, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember. 

“When I got home from physio, Dobson was using you in the hallway. I told you not to open the door for anyone!” 

Pieces started falling back into place. “I didn’t, Master Greg. I heard him at the door and didn’t answer. He was shouting, so I knew it was him.” 

“Then how did you end up in the hallway?” 

“Mr. Dobson urinated in front of your door, Master Greg,” Jimmy said. He started feeling anxious, reporting on the actions of a freeman, but his Master had asked. “I waited for him to go away to open the door to clean it, but he’d only pretended to leave and grabbed me as soon as the door opened.” 

“And then he started using you,” Master Greg supplied. “You’re going to be tender down there for a while. You didn’t need stitches, thank God, but if he’d been able to continue, he’d have really roughed you up.” 

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy answered. He tried to lower his gaze because he couldn’t lower his head. He wasn’t supposed to look at his Master for this long. Then he realized what he’d just said. “I’m sorry, Master Greg! This slave is sorry! It won’t happen again!” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“This slave called you sir by mistake even though you ordered him not to,” Jimmy explained. “This slave will —“ 

“Cut out the ‘this slave’ bullshit. Use ‘I.’ Takes less time.” 

“Yes, si— Master Greg.” 

“You’re going to keep falling back to that, aren’t you? You can’t just remember to call me House?” 

“This — I need to be punished so that I can remember my lessons and rules,” Jimmy explained. Master Greg frowned in thought. 

“I need more information,” Master Greg declared, clearly frustrated, though what he needed information on, Jimmy wasn’t certain. “I should’ve tagged you before I left,” he added. “I’m sorry. It might not have stopped him, but I still should have done it. I’ll see what I can do about reducing the punishment.” 

“Punishment, sir?” 

“You tore a chunk out of Dobson’s arm with your teeth,” Master Greg said, his voice full of pride. “And while you were defending me, your Master, you attacked a freeman. It’s going to be difficult for you to get away with less than a whipping.” 

“I deserve more than a whipping for attacking a freeman, Master Greg. Many slaves are mind-wiped to Level 3 or put down after an incident like this.” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Master Greg said in a firm voice. “You were defending your crippled Master from a lunatic, and that counts for a lot.” 

“I hope you’re right, Master Greg,” Jimmy said wistfully. “He said that you made him get fired. He said that it was my fault for telling you how he’d used me when he ordered me not to tell.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Master Greg said firmly. “I asked, and you can’t lie to me, right?” 

“A Master’s orders supersede any other freeman’s orders, Master Greg,” Jimmy affirmed. 

“Right. Well, he’s right that I got him fired, but he’s had it coming for years. And you don’t know that, do you?” 

“No, Master Greg.” 

Master Greg paused in thought. “Were you able to make those lists I asked for before all this?” 

“Yes, Master Greg. They’re on the kitchen table.” 

“And the tag?” 

“I put it on the table next to the lists, sir, in the box. I know it was presumptuous of me, but I thought you would want to know where it was, just in case.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Master Greg said. “I want to be able to tag you as soon as possible. I won’t stand for things like this to happen!” 

“Thank you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said with heartfelt sincerity. He would be tagged! He would belong only to Master Greg, and no one else could use him! He felt excitement flowing through him, and tried to keep it from showing on his body. 

“No one can use you while you’re here in the slave ward,” Master Greg added. “Dr. Cuddy is firm that when slaves are sick in her hospital, they’re not to be used.” 

Master Greg sat back in the wheelchair, his eyes vacant as he thought about something. Jimmy allowed himself to gaze at his Master. Master Greg sighed. “I never thought I’d own a slave, Jimmy,” he said after a long pause. “I’ve spent a lot of time forgetting the rules about them. You’ll have to be patient as I learn how to be a good Master for you.” 

“Of course, Master Greg.” 

. 

. 

. 

Being confined to the slave ward gave Jimmy an interesting view of the world of Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. The interns and nurses assigned to work in the ward were a chatty bunch, and they often forgot that the slaves they were tending had ears and brains and could understand what they said. 

Within an hour of being in the ward after his MRI, Jimmy learned that Dr. Gregory House, his Master, was the Head of the Diagnostics Department, a relatively new department that had one fellow and a budget much too large for its own good, according to the male intern who’d applied and been rejected for the position. Dr. House was seen as a medical genius, a maverick, and a loose cannon. Very few people liked his personality, calling him gruff, angry, misanthropic and a variety of less savory names. Everyone agreed that he was able to save patients that no one else could diagnose. 

Dr. House reported directly to the Interim Acting Dean of Medicine, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, who Jimmy had seen when she confronted Dr. House over Jimmy’s MRI. Hospital gossip said this was because they had an on-again, off-again romance, and that she was the only one of the administrators who was able to control his antisocial and anti-hospital politics. It didn’t sound like she did a very good job of it, but the Medical Director who was supposed to be Dr. House’s supervisor did much worse. 

Dr. House was rumored to be an abolitionist, something that concerned Jimmy quite a bit. If Dr. House didn’t believe in slavery, what was he going to do with his slave? Most of the staff were asking themselves the very same question. They debated what it meant that Dr. House accepted Jimmy as a parting gift from his girlfriend, and further debated what it meant that he showed up in the slave ward to put his tag on Jimmy while he was still an inpatient and not available for use. 

One of the nurses speculated that it was more about House being a ‘greedy bastard’ who didn’t want to share than about anything else. Another nurse sighed and said that she’d been looking forward to Jimmy’s availability. Most of the rest of the staff, women and men alike, agreed. Jimmy was seen as a very attractive slave, and House effectively taking him ‘off the market’ did a lot to anger a staff that was already uncharitable towards Jimmy’s owner. 

Handlers from the SAC Enforcement Division arrived at the hospital on Jimmy’s third day in the slave ward. Dr. House, still in the wheelchair, followed them as they led Jimmy to the whipping post in a small courtyard that the hospital kept for disciplining their slaves. Jimmy knew it was mandatory for any organization that owned more than 100 slaves to have a dedicated discipline/punishment area, and PPTH held to that law. 

Jimmy hadn’t expected Mr. Dobson to be there, standing next to the wall with a look of feral excitement on his face. 

“Ever been to a whipping before?” Dobson asked Dr. House, sauntering over to Jimmy’s Master. His right arm was bandaged and in a sling, probably because of Jimmy’s actions the other day biting him. 

Dr. House barely spared him a glance. The bruises on his neck were healing, but they were at that ugly green and yellow stage, and very hard to look at. Jimmy wondered if his Master would press charges against Mr. Dobson for the attack. “Give him a gag,” he ordered one of the handlers instead of responding. Jimmy, kneeling in supplication pose with his face to the ground and his entire back spread wide open, gaped. Mistress Bethany had never allowed him a gag while he was whipped before. It was a courtesy allowed to Masters or Mistresses who didn’t want to hear their slaves scream when being punished, but Jimmy had only seen it used a few times in over eight years as a slave. 

Most owners _wanted_ to hear their slaves scream. Whippings were for disobedient slaves, after all, extremely disobedient slaves. 

The handler shoved a bit gag in Jimmy’s mouth and yanked him up by his collar before tying him spread-eagled to the hitching posts. His back to the audience of 

Dr. House, his owner, Dobson, the man ordering the whipping, and a pair of SAC handlers and half-a-dozen witnesses, in addition to all of the hospital slaves there to be shown what happens when a slave makes too big of a mistake, Jimmy took a deep breath through his nose and tried to relax. Whippings went better when he was relaxed. He shifted the hard plastic bit in his mouth, grateful for its presence. 

One of the handlers read out the charges: attacking a freeman. He added that the sentence had been reduced because of extenuating circumstances: protecting his disabled owner from assault. Behind him, Jimmy heard Dobson curse. He hadn’t known about that part? The sentence: Fifteen lashes, reduced from thirty. Jimmy sighed in relief. He’d been given thirty lashes before, and he would be next to useless for days while he healed, even from the fifteen. 

. 

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. 


	6. Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy learns of Master Greg's injury.

Master Greg was in constant pain.  It was due to an infarction in his right thigh that had gone undiagnosed for three days.  From what Jimmy learned from listening to Master Greg and piecing together various facts, Mistress Stacy had gone behind Master Greg's back while he was unconscious and had a muscle debridement surgery performed when Master Greg had wanted to sleep through a bypass procedure in an induced-coma.   

Because of all this, Master Greg needed Vicodin for his pain.  That didn't stop breakthrough pain, or pain when the overused muscles that remained in his leg cramped and spasmed.  As a doctor, Jimmy would never allow a patient with a chronic condition to become accustomed to Vicodin because of the chance of addiction or dependency.  But Jimmy wasn't a doctor anymore, nor was he in any position to countermand the treatment.   

The doctor who wrote Master Greg's scrips was none other than Dr. Cuddy, Master Greg's boss and the attending physician when he had his surgery.  She had encouraged Mistress Stacy to do the debridement, and Master Greg blamed her almost as much as he blamed Mistress Stacy.  Jimmy thought that she probably kept writing the prescriptions out of a sense of guilt, one that Master Greg exploited at every opportunity.   

Jimmy decided to himself that he would do everything he could to help Master Greg's pain, settling on massage as an appropriate activity.  Everyone liked massages, and massaging a spasming muscle could help it relax sooner.  Jimmy had always been told he had good hands.  And a pretty mouth, and a tight ass, but that wasn't relevant to the situation, since Master Greg had yet to use him sexually during an entire week at home. It made Jimmy wonder if that would ever be an option. Orgasms were known to help reduce pain. 

Jimmy was sleeping in his new bed in the laundry room when Master Greg's cry of pain woke him.  He scrambled out of the blanket Master Greg had gotten for him and ran to the bedroom.  Master Greg lay in bed, doubled over, clutching his damaged thigh and hissing through clenched teeth.   

“Get the fuck out!" Master Greg shouted at him.     

"I know how to give the proper massage for a muscle spasm, Master Greg," Jimmy said, shaking at the audacity to contradict his Master and stay in the room. Master Greg gave a groan of pain and motioned with his free hand for him to come.  Jimmy climbed onto the bed and helped Master Greg lie down so he could remove Master Greg's pajama pants and boxers.   

As Jimmy began the massage, Master Greg slowly started to relax.  Jimmy thought it was a rather good thing that they were in the dark bedroom for his first up-close look at Master Greg's scar because it disturbed him and he knew he had to be able to react without reacting the next time his Master let him see it.  There must have been a lot of dead muscle removed, if there was such a crater in Master Greg's thigh.  Jimmy sighed silently, knowing that his reactions wouldn't be appreciated or wanted.  He was Master Greg's slave, and his only purpose was to help his Master.   

It took fifteen minutes of careful massage before the muscles stopped spasming, and another ten before Master Greg's leg felt relaxed enough for Jimmy to feel all right with stopping. Jimmy made a mental note to buy some good massage oils when he bought the weekly groceries online.  Master Greg would probably like it more than the generic lotion he had to use that night.   

Jimmy looked up from his appointed task when he heard Master Greg's sigh of pleasure.  He blinked in surprise.  Master Greg had an erection. Not only an erection, but a large, well-proportioned one.  He’d never really looked at Master Greg’s penis before, it wasn’t appropriate for a slave to ogle his Master, but with it presented so close to his face, there was nowhere else to look. To Jimmy, it looked like paradise.   

Master Greg lay back, his eyes closed, one hand gently stroking himself as if he'd forgotten that Jimmy was there.  Jimmy didn't mind if he was forgotten, though, if he could watch Master Greg like this.  He watched Master Greg for a few seconds before making the decision to give Master Greg pleasure as he'd been taught.   

Master Greg's wanton moan when Jimmy began sucking his cock traveled down Jimmy's spine like a shot of electricity.  It settled at his own cock, which hardened faster than he'd ever known it to do.  Since he became a slave, anyway.  He had no memories of teenage Jimmy and how his body reacted to sexual stimulation.   

Jimmy was sucking so enthusiastically that it took Master Greg grabbing his hair and roughly pulling his head away to get him to stop.   

"No!" Master Greg barked.  “Stop! Get out!" 

Jimmy ran from the room as quickly as he could, not able to deny a second direct order.  He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, but clearly it had been bad.  Was Master Greg displeased with his skills?  But he'd been making sounds of enjoyment!  Was it that Jimmy had taken the initiative ?  He'd been encouraging Jimmy to take a more active part in the household, asking Jimmy to speak his mind whenever he wanted.  Jimmy didn't take him up on that very often, but it was nice to be considered more than furniture.  Could Master Greg have wanted Jimmy's hands?  Or was it his ass he wanted?  But if either of those were the case, he'd have said that to Jimmy instead of banishing him from the bedroom.   

Or was it something simpler?  Did Master Greg not find Jimmy appealing enough to fuck?  No one else had seemed to have that problem, even when Mistress Bethany ordered him to shave all his body hair and dye his skin purple for a Halloween costume.  He'd probably been used by a dozen men that night.   

So it was something deeper.  Was is because Master Greg didn't want to use Jimmy because he reminded him of Mistress Stacy?  She'd bought Jimmy for him when she'd left Master Greg, and she hadn't been back since.  Jimmy overheard a few of their phone conversations in the early days of his service with Master Greg, and he'd been upset on Master Greg's behalf.  She’d taken Master Greg's mobility, given him a lot of pain, and then left him when Master Greg got upset at her.  Jimmy couldn't imagine leaving a man like Master Greg, but, then again, he would never have that kind of opportunity.  Master Greg could sell him at any time, to anyone, and he wouldn't even have to tell Jimmy about it.   

In the morning, Master Greg studied Jimmy carefully over the rim of his coffee mug.  "Leave it at the massages," Master Greg said, the first words out of his mouth since he'd told Jimmy to leave his bedroom.  "If I want something like _that_ , I know where to get it," he added.  Then Master Greg drained his coffee and limped out of the apartment for work.   

. 

. 

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	7. Thoughts on the Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy thinks about his routine as he gets used to living with Master Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time between chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Jimmy still had trouble thinking of himself as James sometimes, even after living with Master Greg for three months. There were certain tasks that he associated with ‘Jimmy’ and others that seemed to fit ‘James’ better. Jimmy was the personal slave for Master Greg, while James was Dr. House’s slave/assistant. Master Greg and Dr. House were reasonably distinct sides of his Master as well. Master Greg was kind to Jimmy and occasionally considerate of his feelings. Dr. House was driven, exacting, and much more demanding of perfection. They both got cranky, though, their tempers appearing out of nowhere, though neither Master Greg nor Dr. House ever raised their voices too much. Or hit him, which was still an amazing turn of events after years of physical punishment from Mistress Bethany. 

Jimmy had gotten used to the routine, though, even if names and tasks were divided between personas. Wake up, clean the apartment, shower, make coffee and breakfast for Master Greg and himself. It still surprised him that Master Greg wanted him to eat the same food as he did. It had taken quite a few angry commands from his Master to ‘just remember what I tell you and do it!’ for him to learn his lessons since Master Greg seemed unwilling to use a crop or other discipline tool on him. 

Dr. House had punished him a few times, usually for not understanding an order or forgetting one, but he’d never hit, caned or whipped James. All of his punishments had come as the removal of privileges. James hadn’t liked it, but it had been better than the canings Mistress Bethany preferred. Jimmy had never liked pain. 

After Dr. House left for work, James spent most of the day reading medical journals and textbooks, as well as doing any research Dr. House required. Dr. House wanted him as up-to-date as possible on all things medical and oncological. Jimmy did laundry, paid Master Greg’s bills online, and maintained the apartment. Dr. House rarely came home for lunch, but if he did, Jimmy made it for him. Dinner was always on the table for when Master Greg came home, as he often called to tell Jimmy he was leaving the hospital. With everything prepared ahead of time, dinner was piping hot when he walked in the door. In the evenings, Jimmy would kneel by the couch while Master Greg watched tv and drank, or played the piano, or read or whatever else he did. Sometimes Dr. House would throw ideas off James about his cases, which made James feel excited and important, even if he knew his place as a slave kept him at the bottom of the social ladder. Off the social ladder, actually, he reminded himself. 

Jimmy learned to love Master Greg's moods, as confusing as they were.  He loved trying to understand the man.  He loved learning how to play verbal games with him, and trick him into doing certain things, like eating vegetables.  Master Greg seemed to prefer Chinese and pizza for dinner, and Jimmy had no idea what he ate when he was at work, but he started trying to add vegetables into the things he cooked for his Master.  He added lots of different vegetables to the tomato sauce he used on the homemade pizzas he made, and he shredded carrots and zucchini into the chocolate muffins he made the other day.  Master Greg had praised the moistness of the muffins and ordered Jimmy to bake a dozen more so that he could take them to work and lord it over the other doctors that his slave was such a good cook and then not share the muffins.  It made Jimmy smile to help his Master do things like that.  Master Greg seemed happiest when he was solving a case or acting childish and snubbing the other doctors.   

Jimmy learned quickly that when Master Greg was in a mediocre mood, acting like a puppy or dog would cheer him up. It backfired if Master Greg was in a very bad mood, making him yell at Jimmy for being an idiot or not anticipating his needs or for ruining his concentration. Likewise, if Master Greg was in an especially good mood, he didn’t want Jimmy acting like an animal or demeaning himself. 

Jimmy always waited for Master Greg to go to bed before he went to his own, a large slave bed modeled off the popular dog bed designs that Master Greg bought for him shortly after Mistress Stacy left. At first, Jimmy’s bed had been in the laundry room, with the fold-away cage Master Greg never used but kept for form in case the SAC ever decided to do a random inspection. After a few weeks, however, Master Greg told Jimmy to move his bed to the bedroom, where Jimmy could sleep at the foot of Master Greg’s bed and be available in the middle of the night if Master Greg needed him. That usually took the form of fetching something for Master Greg or supporting him to the bathroom and back, in addition to the frequent massages when a muscle cramped or Master Greg couldn’t sleep. 

Master Greg had yet to use Jimmy sexually. For a little while, Jimmy had hoped that Master Greg would break down and use him, and he went to sleep every night with an erection from thinking about it. The sex had never come, and Jimmy remained frustrated. 

He wasn’t sure why Master Greg wasn’t using him. His rejection of Jimmy’s attempt at giving him oral sex after a massage and subsequent declaration that he knew where to find a sexual outlet in Jimmy if he wanted it gave Jimmy a very clear message that Master Greg wasn’t going to use him before he was ready. 

Before being owned by Master Greg, Jimmy had been used several times a day at the SAC. It hadn’t been bad. The men and women working there knew not to damage the slaves when they used them, and he’d always been stretched a little and they’d always used lube and condoms. It was required that all handlers use condoms with slaves to maintain their salability. 

When Mistress Bethany had owned him, she’d wanted him to go down on her every night and most mornings, and often used him for intercourse. When she’d had a boyfriend, they used him together. She had been a good Mistress, and allowed Jimmy to come when he was used for anything more than oral sex. He knew he was lucky, for some Masters and Mistresses made their slaves wear chastity belts or cock cages to prevent them from having orgasms. She’d also required condoms when lending him out to be used. She didn’t want a slave with an STI. It pushed up her health insurance premium. 

Fortunately, all of Jimmy’s tests came back clean after those first horrible days when Jimmy had been available to everyone in Master Greg’s apartment building. 

Daily sex for over eight years gave Jimmy a very high libido. At 31, he was able to achieve multiple orgasms in an hour, something that had pleased Mistress Bethany when she’d shown him off to her friends or lent him out for parties. Not having sex for three months had made Jimmy irritable, something he struggled to keep from showing. It wouldn’t do for Master Greg to know how frustrated he was. He was a slave, and a slave’s feelings didn’t matter. Only his Master’s feelings mattered. 

Tonight, Master Greg seemed depressed. He started drinking as soon as he got home and only stopped when he needed to hold on to Jimmy to get himself to the bathroom because he was too intoxicated to walk unaided. He’d graduated to using a cane in place of the crutches, but he wasn’t happy about it and preferred to use Jimmy for support when at home. 

“What happened, Master Greg?” Jimmy asked as he made a new sandwich to replace the one that Master Greg threw at the television when the Yankees lost their game. 

“Shut up and bring me the sandwich,” Master Greg growled. 

Jimmy shut his mouth and handed the sandwich to Master Greg. Making a new sandwich was much better than cleaning up spilled beer, which had happened more than once. 

“She’s a bitch, Jimmy,” Master Greg declared a few minutes later. “She went behind my back and crippled me! And you know what she did then? Well, I’ll tell you: She bought you!” 

Jimmy wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond. He’d seen Master Greg drunk before, and seen him disparaging Mistress Stacy before, but the combination didn’t look promising. Jimmy raised his head in time to see the hand gesture his Master made. It took him a moment to process the order, though his body started moving immediately. 

Jimmy lay naked and face-down across his Master’s lap, holding himself up on his elbows to keep from putting too much pressure on Master Greg’s thigh. 

“What’re you doing?” Master Greg asked, clearly confused. 

“You ordered me to take this position, Master Greg,” Jimmy responded. “You used the hand signal.” The hand gestures were a special kind of sign language taught to the slaves while they were at the SAC. Not all Masters and Mistresses used them, but each slave was expected to know, respond to, and follow every gesture immediately, just like a verbal order. 

“Really?” Master Greg stared at his hand as he repeated the gesture. He frowned, then repeated it again. “Huh. Didn’t know I knew that one,” he commented. “You don’t mind?” 

“No, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered, as if there were any other possibility. 

Master Greg paused, then his right hand rested on Jimmy’s back. His hand was warm, and Jimmy shivered at the touch. Slowly, Master Greg stroked along Jimmy’s back, tracing the scars from whippings with a gentle finger. Jimmy shivered again. 

“Are you cold?” 

“No, Master Greg. Your touch feels good.” 

Master Greg caressed Jimmy’s ass, squeezing lightly. 

“She shouldn’t have bought you,” Master Greg mumbled. He rubbed circles on Jimmy’s lower back, every third circle moving to stroke his ass. “Too damn attractive,” he added. 

“Master Greg?” Jimmy asked, his hips twitching. He felt himself growing hard. Master Greg chuckled and moved to stroke down Jimmy’s thighs. There was no doubt in Jimmy’s mind that Master Greg could feel his arousal. 

“I bet she rejected a female because she thought I’d be tempted to fuck her and she didn’t want me fucking anyone when she left me.” Master Greg gave Jimmy’s ass a light slap. “But she doesn’t know, Jimmy. She doesn’t know.” 

“What doesn’t she know?” Jimmy whispered, gasping as Master Greg slapped him again. It wasn’t painful. It stung a little, but Master Greg rubbed the sting away before slapping him again. It was a kind of warm-up foreplay that Jimmy was well experienced with. If Master Greg followed the form of the other men and women who’d done this to him, the slaps would get harder and harder until Jimmy’s entire ass was pink and giving off a heat that always made the other person want to fuck him hard and fast. 

He closed his eyes and breathed into it, praying that _this_ time, Master Greg would use him. 

“She doesn’t know what a nice ass you have,” Master Greg growled, pinching Jimmy’s right cheek. “She doesn’t know that I’m tempted by you, Jimmy, otherwise she’d never have gotten you.” He gave Jimmy a hard slap this time, making him twitch and wiggle. “None of that, Jimmy. Stay nice and still for me.” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, continuing in the small voice he’d been using. 

Master Greg continued slapping Jimmy’s ass until it was warm and pink, but not the hottest he’d ever known it. Then Master Greg rubbed his stubbled cheeks across the pink skin. It felt delicious, and Jimmy squirmed again. 

“Such a nice ass,” Master Greg breathed, lowering his head so he was curled around Jimmy, his head resting between Jimmy’s shoulder blades. He returned to the gentle stroking of Jimmy’s ass. “Such a nice ass,” he repeated, sounding wistful. “You’d be tight, wouldn’t you, Jimmy, if I were to take you?” 

“Yes, Master Greg.” 

“Most of the women I dated hated ass-play, you know,” Master Greg said conversationally. “Stacy tried it with me, but she never liked it.” 

“I’m sorry, Master Greg,” Jimmy said for the sake of saying something and letting his Master know he was paying attention. 

“If she’d gotten you and stayed, do you think she’d have let me fuck you?” 

“I don’t know, Master Greg.” 

“Neither do I,” Master Greg muttered with a sad sigh. He lapsed into silence, his hand moving slowly along Jimmy’s ass until it stopped, cupping one ass cheek. His breathing settled into a sleep pattern. He started to snore. 

Jimmy waited half an hour before carefully disengaging and crawling out from under his Master’s body. He resettled Master Greg in a more comfortable position and went about the apartment cleaning and doing his evening chores as quietly as possible. Once everything was ready, he went to his Master’s side and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Master Greg? It’s time for bed,” he said, giving his Master a small shake. Master Greg blinked blearily at him before nodding and accepting Jimmy’s help to the bathroom and bedroom. He fell asleep again as soon as his head hit the pillow. Jimmy took care of his evening grooming and changed into his sleepwear, boxers and a t-shirt, and curled up in his bed at the foot of his Master’s. He wondered if Master Greg would remember in the morning. 

. 

. 

. 

“Jimmy, are you awake?” 

Instantly woken from a deep sleep on hearing his Master’s voice, Jimmy responded. “Yes, Master Greg.” 

“There’s room up here,” Master Greg said softly. 

Jimmy paused. While what his Master said was indirect, if Jimmy put a certain slant on the statement, it could be a request for him to join his Master in bed. It could also be a request for more pillows, but given the strange affection of the night and Master Greg’s declaration that Jimmy had a nice ass, Jimmy suspected he knew what he’d be doing once he got into bed. 

He tried to keep the excitement of finally being of use to his Master out of his voice when he answered. “Yes, Master Greg.” 

As soon as Jimmy lifted the sheet and blanket to get under the covers, he knew he’d made the right decision. Master Greg grabbed his wrist and pulled him in, hugging him tightly against him, spooning up behind him. He pulled Jimmy’s shirt off over his head and tossed it to the floor. He allowed Jimmy to wriggle until he was comfortable, with his ass pressed into Master Greg’s groin, and his back pressing against his chest with every breath. He could feel Master Greg’s chest hair tickling him. 

Jimmy didn’t feel an erection from Master Greg. 

“I met her six years ago today,” Master Greg said into the dark. He scooted closer and rubbed his nose against the nape of Jimmy’s neck where his haircut ended. He inhaled deeply. “Thank God you don’t smell anything like her,” he added. 

“Master Greg?” 

“Go back to sleep, Jimmy. This is all I need from you tonight.” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy agreed, closing his eyes and trying to find sleep as he was told. His mind didn’t shut off as quickly, however, and he spent an hour going over the night and analyzing everything. 

Master Greg thought he was attractive and liked his ass in particular. Master Greg was sad about no longer being with Mistress Stacy. Master Greg felt lonely and wanted Jimmy in his bed to cuddle. 

Jimmy could deal with that. Hell, he could get used to it. 

. 

. 

. 

Master Greg’s erection rubbing against his boxer-clad behind woke Jimmy at five in the morning, an hour before his usual time to get up and well before Master Greg’s. For a moment he allowed himself to savor the sensation, pressing back without thinking about it, finding a gentle rhythm of back and forth motions of his hips. Master Greg seemed to be asleep, in the middle of an erotic dream. His hand roamed over Jimmy’s chest to tweak a nipple. Jimmy gasped and thrust back. 

He wasn’t sure what to do. Some trainers at the SAC would have told him to go along with it and let his Master’s dream play out with Jimmy’s body. Other trainers would have told him to give his Master a blowjob, timed precisely so that his Master woke to the feeling of coming down Jimmy’s throat. 

He didn’t think Master Greg would appreciate either approach. 

Jimmy kept his eyes closed and thought about the possibilities. He thought about Master Greg pulling down his boxers and taking him roughly, pounding him into the bed. He hadn’t had a good pounding in months, and he felt his hole twitch in anticipation. He knew he probably hadn’t had an interest in men sexually before being collared, but he also knew that he loved sex, and those two cancelled each other out until he learned to tolerate the experience. Sometimes he even liked it, when the men thrust against his prostate and allowed him to come. Now, with Master Greg behind him, he wanted it. He wanted Master Greg to push into him. He wanted Master Greg to fill him. 

Unlike with most of the men who used him, Jimmy had the feeling that Master Greg would be concerned that Jimmy enjoy it, and he eagerly anticipated when Master Greg would take him for the first time. 

Master Greg bit down on his neck. Jimmy moaned. He squirmed in his Master’s arms. He shifted so his Master’s erection brushed his balls with the next thrust. Master Greg made a sound of enjoyment and reached under Jimmy’s boxers. 

“What the fuck?” Master Greg demanded, suddenly completely awake. He shoved Jimmy away from him and glared. “What are you doing here? Get out!” 

“Yes, Master Greg. I’m sorry, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, dropping to his knees on the floor. He lowered his face, exposing his back, supplication pose. Master Greg made a growling sound. 

“Explain yourself!” 

“L— last night you wa— wanted me in bed with you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, stuttering slightly. “You wanted to hold me while you slept, I think. I woke just now when you started touching me.” 

Silence. Jimmy didn’t dare raise his head or move. If Master Greg was feeling capricious, his right as Jimmy’s Master, he could punish Jimmy for not anticipating him wanting Jimmy gone from the bed when he woke. 

“You had an erection,” Master Greg said after a moment, sounding tired. Jimmy heard the rustle of the bedclothes as he lay down again, then the subtle scrape of skin on stubble, telling him that Master Greg was rubbing his face. “Why?” 

“Yes, Master Greg. I haven’t been used in months, Master Greg. My body is accustomed to daily use. It responded to your touch.” Jimmy decided to leave out the part about wanting Master Greg’s touch. His desire to be used by his Master didn’t matter. 

“Oh.” Jimmy waited while Master Greg contemplated his answer. “Go shower, then. I doubt I’ll go back to sleep, so better to get an early start.” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered, rising. 

“Jimmy.” 

“Master Greg?” 

“Thank you for letting me hold you,” Master Greg said softly. 

“It was my pleasure, Master Greg,” Jimmy replied. “Any time you’d like —“ 

“I know. Go shower,” Master Greg interrupted, shooing Jimmy away. 

Just like that, Jimmy was back to his routine. 

. 

. 

. 


	8. Plans for the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Greg has some interesting information for Jimmy. He also has a proposal.

Slaves knew a lot of things about their Masters that their Masters weren't aware they knew.  For example, Jimmy could predict Master Greg's breakfast preferences based on how quickly he got out of bed and dressed for the day.  He knew which songs Master Greg would play on the piano when his patients lived, and which songs he'd play when it was up in the air.  He knew which guitar Master Greg would ask for depending on the day of the week and his general mood.   

He knew that Master Greg watched a lot of pornography, but almost never masturbated to it.  He knew that when Master Greg did masturbate, he did it late at night when he thought Jimmy was sleeping in his own bed at the foot of Master Greg's bed.  He knew that every so often, Master Greg would whisper Jimmy's name after he came.   

This confused Jimmy quite a bit, since he was right there and would happily provide any and all sexual gratification Master Greg needed.  He didn't bring it up, though, for fear of Master Greg's response.   

Over the months, Jimmy learned to ignore the erection brushing against his hair when he massaged Master Greg's leg.  He learned to remain silent while Master Greg stroked himself along with Jimmy's ministrations.  He taught himself not to lick up the tantalizing cum that frequently landed on Master Greg’s stomach after a massage and just wipe his Master’s semen as if it were the massage oil.   

None of this stopped Jimmy's feelings of desire and need towards his Master.  With each incident, each whispered breath of his name when Master Greg finished himself, he fell more in love with his Master.   

Some days it seemed like everything Master Greg did was part of a conspiracy to get Jimmy to fall in love with him. 

“I know who you used to be,” Master Greg declared as he settled on the couch. He accepted the plate of food Jimmy handed him. Chinese, made that evening in the wok Master Greg had allowed Jimmy to buy for his kitchen. “Do you want to know?” 

“I’m not sure, Master Greg,” Jimmy said. 

“You were on your way to being a very good doctor,” Master Greg continued as if Jimmy hadn’t spoken. “Twenty-three and already an MD. You’d started your oncology fellowship.” 

Jimmy sank to his knees in base position his usual spot next to the couch. Master Greg reached over and ruffled his hair. He’d been adding small affectionate gestures to his treatment of Jimmy, something Jimmy adored. He pressed his head into Master Greg’s hand, like a dog or cat would, and Master Greg scritched him behind the ear absently, as if he wasn’t thinking about the action at all. “A regular boy-wonder oncologist.” 

“What was my name?” Jimmy asked hesitantly. 

“James Evan Wilson,” Master Greg answered. “Your wife’s name was Samantha Carr.” 

“She divorced me,” Jimmy corrected. “They told me that at the SAC. I have to know what my crimes were, and since I was arrested the final time because of getting the divorce papers, it became part of what I know.” 

Master Greg grunted. “Actually, the divorce never went through. You never got to sign the papers by the time you were collared, so the marriage was annulled and all your assets went to her, as well as all your medical school debt. 

“She didn’t know what she was missing. I looked her up, of course. Also a doctor. Remarried, two kids. Not a shining career by any means. Mediocre, and not good enough for who you would have been.” Master Greg paused, clearly waiting to drop another bomb. “She hasn’t been able to pay off all that debt yet,” he added with a sparkle of glee in his eyes. 

Jimmy nodded but didn’t say anything. He felt hot, excited, overwhelmed. He had a name! He had a name, and presumably a family. “Did Samantha and I have children?” 

“No.” 

“Do you know about my family?” 

“Your parents are both living. They’re not doing well. Your older brother is married with twin girls, but your younger brother’s been homeless the last ten years or so. Schizophrenia. He might be a slave, too, but I don’t know for sure. Records on him are spotty” 

“Oh.” 

Master Greg handed Jimmy the empty plate. “Get us both scotch when you’ve finished the dishes, James,” he said in the voice he used when he was trying to be extra kind to Jimmy. 

Master Greg had Jimmy sit on the couch next to him when he returned with the two glasses of scotch. Jimmy hesitated. Not only was scotch a rare treat, one he hadn’t had in four years since Mistress Bethany gave him a sip of hers to celebrate her degree, but sitting on the couch was even more rare. He always knelt or sat on the floor, unless he was being used on a piece of furniture. He felt more comfortable on the floor on his cushion. He sat anyway. His Master wanted him sitting on the couch. 

“What would you do if you were free?” Dr. House asked, for he wore his serious expression that made Jimmy think of him as a doctor first and his Master second. 

_Offer my body to you,_ Jimmy thought immediately. _Because if I’m free, you won’t have any reservations about taking me._

“Practice medicine,” James answered. 

Dr. House nodded as if he expected that answer. “And that’s the problem,” he said. He took a sip of scotch. “James Wilson lost his medical license when he was declared a slave under the three-strike rule. Two of the charges were pure bullshit, but there’s no way to get them overturned, and even if that were possible, Wilson would have to go to medical school again, go through his fellowships, get a job. You wouldn’t have the money or time to make it worthwhile. And that’s assuming a medical school will accept you, or someone hire you. As a former slave, you wouldn’t be able to get any but the worst jobs.” 

James sipped his own drink, looking away. He’d suspected that was the case. He felt the flush of the alcohol almost immediately. 

“But as my property, I could arrange for you to be re-certified and re-licensed as an extension of my certifications and licenses. You wouldn’t be a full doctor, but you could practice medicine.” 

“How would that work?” James asked. “I’ve never heard of it before.” 

“It’s not something that’s easy to do, nor is the policy discussed openly. The government doesn’t want it widely known that Mind-Wipe Levels 1 and 2 slaves can practice their former professions under specific circumstances, or any circumstances. It would give the abolitionists more power.” 

Jimmy closed his eyes. Dr. House had talked about the abolitionists in the third person. He wasn’t one himself. The idea that Dr. House would free him seemed remote, now, which was a relief. Jimmy liked being owned by Dr. House, if he had to be owned by anyone. Which he did. 

“You would be a tool for me to use to practice medicine, nothing more. Like a living, breathing stethoscope. Your behavior would reflect on me. Your diagnoses and medical decisions would be counted as mine. I would have to sign off on all your test requests, all your prescriptions, all your cases and case notes,” Dr. House finished. 

“That sounds like a lot of work for you,” Jimmy whispered, feeling exposed and vulnerable. There was no way he could be James feeling like that. “And responsibility.” 

“It is.” 

Jimmy swallowed, waiting for Dr. House’s verdict on the matter. 

“I see four possible outcomes for you,” Dr. House said. “One, I free you, give you a parting gift, and send you off to make your own way. I believe that the SAC is required to sign off on the manumission and there’s a lengthy legal process to go through as well. Two, I sell you to a Master or Mistress of your choosing. Three, you remain here as my personal household slave until your term is up in 27 years. And Four —“ 

“My term is up? What —?” 

Dr. House grinned at Jimmy’s bafflement. “They never let you read your own papers, did they? No, I didn’t think so. You were sentenced to 35 years as a slave based on your crimes. The usual term is 25 years, and many slaves don’t make it that long, but you were a doctor when the final incident happened, and the court felt that you should have known better than to strike out.” 

“There’s a time limit?” Jimmy asked, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “I don’t always have to belong to someone?” 

“After 35 years you’d go through a manumission hearing. Every one of your owners will be interviewed as to your behavior as a slave and their feelings on whether or not you would become a repeat offender or whether you’re safe to release back into the population. Each of your whippings would be discussed and gone over with a fine-toothed comb.” Dr. House rubbed his eyes and finished his scotch. “According to my source, 89% of slaves who make it to their manumission hearing are rejected for one reason or another. Of those 89%, only 7% live until their next hearing ten years later. Of those… maybe 15% are freed. No one has ever made it to a third manumission hearing.” 

“Suicide?” James speculated. Dr. House’s nod confirmed his idea. “If I had to have a second hearing, that would be 45 years. I’d be 68.” 

“Just in time to be denied Medicare and Social Security.” 

“What am I going to do?” Jimmy wailed, breaking down into messy tears. “I don’t want you to sell me! I don’t want you to free me if I’ll end up as a garbage collector! I don’t want to be 68 without any benefits or income!” 

“There’s a fourth option,” Master Greg murmured in Jimmy’s ear when he managed to get his sobs under control. He found himself pressed up against Master Greg, with Master Greg’s arms around him. Master Greg’s shirt was wet with his tears. “I could invest in re-training you. Make you as close as you can be to the doctor you were. Give you as much freedom as I can, within the confines of this shitty system.” 

“You’d do that for me?” Jimmy wiped his eyes and nose with the paper towel Master Greg handed him. “What do I have to do? How can I serve you? What do you —“ 

“Try to relax, Jimmy,” Master Greg said, rubbing his back and pulling him close so that Jimmy’s head rested on his chest. “All I’d want is for you to help people. With you, I can save more lives.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Well, you’d still cook and clean and do all the household chores. Don’t expect _me_ to do any of that bullshit. I’m crippled.” 

James laughed at the haughtiness in Dr. House’s voice. 

“What about sexua—“ 

“I am not doing this to coerce sex from you,” Dr. House barked. 

“It wouldn’t be coercion,” Jimmy whispered. “You own me.” Dr. House ignored that statement and started talking again. 

“Your name will be James ad-House,” Dr. House said, using the latin word for ‘belonging to’ that had become the standard way of identifying slaves and their Masters. “Dr. ad-House when at the hospital, though many people will try to call you Jimmy or James.” 

“I understand,” James said. He knew he wouldn’t win any points with his owner if he talked about sex again, so he dropped it for another time. The good thing about this arrangement was that he had time with Master Greg to figure out how to coax sex from him by making it seem like Master Greg’s idea. 

“I’ll start the paperwork on Monday. Cuddy will have to sign off on the arrangement at the hospital, of course, but I don’t think there will be any problems with that. The hospital has a small army of slaves already, one more shouldn’t bother her, even if you’d be the first with medical training and knowledge. The training courses take six months or more, depending on how quickly you pass them, and the certification process another six months after that. You won’t be able to practice until then, but I’m going to bring you to the hospital to shadow me anyway after the training portion is done.” 

“Thank you, Dr. House,” James said, pulling away and straightening first Dr. House’s collar and then his own clothing. He thought about all the medical journals Dr. House had been making him read and wondered if this had been Dr. House’s plan all along. Being up on current treatments would help him breeze through some of the training, he hoped. 

“You’re welcome. Now get me a clean shirt.” 

When Jimmy returned with the requested shirt, Dr. House handed him a list of topics for the training. “Concentrate on these in your reading, but I still want you to read all of what I’m bringing home. I’m going to have them focus on oncology and palliative care, which is a specialty my team could use.” 

“Your team? I thought you had only the one fellow?” 

“By the time all this is finished, I’ll have a second fellow. The plan is to get me to three fellows by ’03 or ’04.” 

“You have a plan?” 

Master Greg grinned happily. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He winked at Jimmy. 

. 

. 

. 


	9. A Slave's Ethics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Greg and Jimmy discuss ethics and what would have to happen for Jimmy to disobey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentioned corporeal punishment - caning & whipping. As usual with the story, slavery, sexual subjugation, and all around f-ed up society.

This evening Jimmy could tell that his Master was far more intoxicated than he'd ever seen him.  Dr. House had been working on a case for five days, and his patient just kept getting more and more sick.  No one had any idea what was going on with the patient, aside from the fact that it wasn't lupus.  Dr. House told James that it was _never_ lupus.  He'd even had James look at the scans to see if he thought there might be cancer, since Dr. House didn't trust the head of the oncology department, Dr. Brown.   

"He's sloppy," Dr. House told James when he handed him the scans.  "Maybe you can see something."   

James hadn't seen anything, and it had been back to the white board for Dr. House.   

Now Master Greg had come home, already drunk, and demanded that Jimmy give him more scotch.  Jimmy complied reluctantly.  Master Greg started going on about the case, and though Jimmy tried to offer ideas and cheer him up, nothing seemed to work, even acting like a pet.  Fifteen hours later the patient died, and the autopsy the next day confirmed the cause of death as something that hadn't ever been on the white board.   

"She was fucking her slave!" Master Greg shouted in an angry, slurred voice, already drunk for the second time in as many days.  "She was fucking _fucking_ her fucking slave!"  He threw his glass.  Jimmy hastened to clean up the mess, though, fortunately, there was no broken glass.  “Goddamn idiots can’t figure out to use condoms! Do they think they can’t pass STIs to their slaves? Do they think slaves can’t pass it back? Are we in a country full of morons? Don’t answer that. We both know the answer’s yes, otherwise you’d be Wilson and —“ 

Master Greg stopped himself mid-sentence and snatched the bottle from the coffee table. “She was fucking her slave, and he'd been fucked by someone with a rare strain of an STI that no one's heard of in this country in decades.  Now, if we were in Somalia… That would be a different issue, but we're not, so no one thought to test for it.  Not even me. Can you believe it?" 

"It's quite common for Masters and Mistresses to use their slaves sexually," Jimmy pointed out softly.   

"Don't you think I know that?" Master Greg demanded, suddenly even more angry.  "He knelt by her bed all week and didn't say anything!" Master Greg continued.  "He knew he had the STI and didn't say anything!"   

"Master Greg, he wouldn't have been allowed to say anything out of turn unless someone asked him directly."   

"And no one did," Master Greg finished with a tired sigh.  He rubbed his hands over his face.  "Not even me," he added.  "I'm not the only doctor at the hospital who owns a slave, but it was _my_ case.  I should've known to ask him, to talk to him. I should’ve had someone pull his medical files.”   

"You can't know everything, Master Greg," Jimmy said in what he hoped was a soothing voice.  "And I think it'll be a mistake you never make again."  To himself, Jimmy added that since Master Greg didn’t fuck his own slave, it probably didn’t occur to him to think that a woman in her late seventies would fuck hers. 

Master Greg looked over to where Jimmy knelt by the couch, his posture relaxed and calm as he spoke with his Master.  "Would you speak up?" Master Greg asked.  "If I were sick?"   

Jimmy didn't have to pause to think of an answer.  "Yes," he said simply.   

"Why?  What's so different about you?" 

"I've been trained as a doctor, Master Greg.  I took the oath to do no harm.  I might be a slave, but I still believe it's my responsibility to save lives.  Especially yours, Master Greg. Isn’t that why you’ve had me go to the trainings and recertification classes?” 

“You’d speak up because I'm your Master?” 

"Yes, but also because by saving you it would save other people's lives."  Jimmy refrained from mentioning his feelings towards his Master.  It wasn't appropriate to bring them up, especially when Master Greg was so firm on not using Jimmy sexually.  Besides, it would probably scuttle any hope of his Master using him if he were to mention his feelings. Master Greg’s heart was still broken over Mistress Stacy leaving him, and he wasn’t in a mental place to be able to think of anyone loving him, let alone his slave. 

Master Greg thought about Jimmy’s comment for a long time.  "Would you have spoken out about your previous owner?"   

Jimmy paused to think.  The answer came to him after a moment.  "No.  She was a mediocre doctor at best, and a failure at worst.  She only made it through school because I tutored her."   

"Your file says you got three of your whippings for refusing to help her cheat on med school exams." Dr. House had returned, and James came to the front of Jimmy’s head. 

“Yes,” James said. “She — wait, what? That’s what the report says?” 

“If you know how to read between the lines. ‘Slave unwilling to take dictation for exam after numerous punishments’ is pretty obvious.” Dr. House looked at James carefully. “Why did you refuse? You had to have known it could escalate to whippings.” 

James frowned in thought. How to word his answer? 

“Mistress Bethany was… not a smart woman,” James started, settling on his knees in a more comfortable position. “She liked easy answers and simple procedures. I think she chose oncology because the outcomes are well-known and the treatments very similar to each other.” 

Dr. House opened his mouth to say something, but James spoke over anything he might have said. He was getting better at that, at least when he was in his James ad-House persona. 

“I know that’s not true, of course. When she was in school, Mistress Bethany brought me to all of her classes so that I could carry her books and take notes from the lectures for her. She liked to use her attractiveness to get what she wanted, rather than her mind.” 

“Lazy bitch,” Master Greg muttered. 

James’s lips curled up slightly. “About everything,” he agreed. “She didn’t even want to work for sex.” 

Dr. House grunted and motioned for James to continue. 

“Mistress Bethany claimed to have a learning disability that required that I write her exams for her.” 

“Claimed?” 

“I snuck a look at her psychology report. She has very slight dyslexia.” 

“Not enough to really qualify for services?” 

“Right. But she made such a fuss that they allowed it. Her family has a lot of money, and her father is used to using it to grease wheels for his children. When we got to the private exam room, she wanted me to write all the answers while she read a magazine. I refused, saying that my presence was to take her dictation. She used a crop on me, and when I still refused, called for a cane.” James took a sip of the water that was next to him on the floor. He loved that Master Greg allowed him as much water as he wanted, and he usually kept a bottle or glass next to him at all times. 

“It was the first time she’d used a cane on me. On any slave, actually, and she didn’t know what she was doing. She gave me 50.” Master Greg gasped, probably horrified that an untrained woman hit him so many times with a tool she’d never used before. “I couldn’t sit after the punishment, so I couldn’t write the exams and she had to write them herself. She passed the class, but barely, and failed another one. That’s when she had me whipped.” 

“Twenty lashes,” Master Greg murmured. "Three days after the 50 from the cane. God, your back and ass must have been torn bloody!" He rubbed his hand over his face and his fingers through his hair. "Now I understand the scarring," he muttered. "At least she got you medical attention for the wounds." 

Jimmy hummed in response. Mistress Bethany had been yelled at by her father for damaging her slave, which prompted the medical care. Left on her own, she'd have had Jimmy take care of himself, rather than allow him the day in the Slave Clinic to be cared for after the whippings. He didn't think Master Greg needed to know that detail. He'd probably respond with anger, and since he was already in a touchy mood, Jimmy didn't want to risk setting off another explosion. 

“She only used the cane the first time. The other two whippings came immediately after I refused to write her exams. Then she decided it wasn’t worth damaging me over. She took her own exams, and made it through school, but she was in the bottom ten percent of her class.” 

“No wonder she sold you,” Master Greg said. “She was intimidated by you.” 

“I hardly think —“ 

“You’re a better doctor eight years after you last practiced than she is now,” Master Greg interrupted. “I’ve seen your class notes, and I’ve seen the notes you don’t bring in to class.” 

Jimmy felt himself flush in embarrassment. He hadn’t realized that Master Greg would be looking into his education that closely. He’d forgotten that anything he wrote belonged to his Master, and that if Master Greg wanted, he could claim Jimmy’s papers as his own. He doubted Master Greg would do that, but it was a possibility. 

“Once you’re practicing again, I’m putting your name on any paper I publish that you contribute to,” Master Greg added. 

“Really, Master Greg? Is that even legal? You don’t have to —“ 

“I want to.” Master Greg reached out and stroked Jimmy’s cheek. “Sometimes I wonder what James Wilson would be like,” he continued in a silky soft voice. His hand moved to cup the back of Jimmy’s head. “Would he work at my hospital and be my friend?” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Would he be my lover?” 

Jimmy had no idea how to respond. He was pretty certain that James Wilson would _not_ have been Master Greg’s lover, since he was heterosexual as far as he knew, but there’s always the odd possibility. Jimmy’s attraction to his Master went far beyond the normal ingrained desire to be used by one’s owner. He watched Master Greg’s expression. 

“I think… he would definitely be your friend,” Jimmy whispered. “You might be able to coax him into bed, though,” Jimmy added. “I think he’d like those flashing blue eyes of yours.” 

Master Greg chuckled and ruffled Jimmy’s hair roughly. It was a happy gesture, telling Jimmy he’d answered correctly. He smiled tentatively. 

“Come up here,” Master Greg said, patting the couch cushion next to him. “How would we sit, if I was House and you were Wilson?” 

Jimmy thought for a moment before settling on the cushion as close to his Master as he could get, so close that their thighs were touching. He put his feet up on the coffee table next to his Master’s. Master Greg stretched an arm out behind him, and Jimmy leaned against his side, resting his head on Master Greg’s shoulder. Master Greg settled his arm around Jimmy and Jimmy took a chance and put his arm across Master Greg’s middle. Master Greg sighed and pulled him close for a quick hug before relaxing. 

“This is nice,” Master Greg said. Jimmy made a sound of agreement. They watched tv like that for an hour before Master Greg’s stomach rumbled. “Get me some food. Do we have any of that pizza you made left?” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered. He took the glass from his Master’s hand and brought it to the kitchen, returning with leftover pizza. Master Greg immediately started scarfing it down. He motioned to have Jimmy join him again, and for the next three hours Jimmy pretended to be Wilson, Dr. House’s best friend. They ate and joked and made fun of the tv. They kissed once, then a second and third time. There was something tentative and sweet about the kisses, not at all what Jimmy would have expected for the first kisses from his Master. He snuggled closer into his Master’s arms and leaned over to kiss him a fourth time. 

Master Greg called a halt almost immediately after their tongues tangled together for the first time. The passionate kiss they shared left both of them breathing heavily, and Master Greg brushed Jimmy’s hair off his forehead in an affectionate gesture before letting him go and telling him to get ready for bed. 

When Jimmy went to lie down after his evening chores, Master Greg invited him into bed. 

“What if you wake the way you did last time?” Jimmy asked as he settled with his back to Master Greg’s chest. 

“You mean, what if I’m poking you with my dick? Go to your own bed.” 

“Yes, Master Greg.” 

“I just want to hold you,” Master Greg explained. “I don’t want to wake up with your mouth on my cock.” 

“No, Master Greg, I won’t do that.” 

“Just so we understand each other.” 

“We do, Master Greg. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Jimmy.” 

. 

. 

. 


	10. Pet vs. Slave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is bestiality less abhorrent than rape, Jimmy?” Master Greg asked seriously.   
> “I don’t know.”   
> “Neither do I.” Master Greg closed his eyes and turned away. “I’d like to kiss you,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's more sexual content in this chapter. And don't worry, no actual bestiality.

“What if you could be my pet instead of my slave?” Master Greg asked one Saturday after lunch. “You remind me so much of a puppy, sometimes.” He reached out and stroked Jimmy’s cheek with the second joint of his index finger. “It’s those big brown eyes of yours. Makes me think of a chocolate lab.” 

Jimmy allowed himself to smile, feeling a flush of warmth throughout his body. He loved it when Master Greg was relaxed enough to touch him, and being a puppy or pet often prompted touches to his head or face. It didn’t happen every day, and Jimmy wanted to take advantage of the mood. He _liked_ acting like a puppy for Master Greg if getting touched was the result. 

“I could be your puppy, Master Greg,” he offered. “Would you want me to bark?” he added, never having been given the opportunity to ask such a question. He already had a set of whines and puppy-dog eyes, but to be able to bark would add to the effect. 

Master Greg laughed heartily, tugging on the back of Jimmy’s head to tell him to get on the couch with him. Jimmy curled his legs under himself and scrunched up so that his body could approximate a four-legged creature. 

“I could get you ears,” Master Greg continued. “Or a tail.” 

“A tail?” 

Master Greg laughed at the expression on Jimmy’s face and pulled a crumpled bit of magazine out of his pocket to show him. It was an ad for a ‘pet kit’ for a slave, to dress him or her up as a cat, dog, guinea pig, mouse, or ferret with ears, collar accessories, optional gloves with ‘claws,’ and butt plugs shaped like tails. Jimmy briefly wondered if there were more exotic kits out there, then dismissed the question. Master Greg obviously wanted him to be a dog. 

A butt plug, though? Did that mean Master Greg was getting closer to wanting sex from Jimmy? Did he want Jimmy to get used to being stretched again? Did he want to come home from work and sink his erection into Jimmy’s waiting hole? Fuck him hard and fast until Jimmy cried out from joy? He felt another flush crawl up his body, settling as a pinkness on his cheeks. Desire flared in his belly, and he was glad that he was crouched down where Master Greg couldn’t see his half-formed erection. Master Greg still didn’t like discussing or being aware of Jimmy as a sexual being, even if he allowed Jimmy to sleep next to him occasionally and had kissed him a few times when he was pretending Jimmy was ‘Wilson.’ 

“They can match the tail to your own hair color if given a sample to work with,” Master Greg informed him, his fingers moving through Jimmy’s hair. 

“I — I would be happy to wear a tail for you,” Jimmy said earnestly. 

“I bet you would,” Master Greg replied, a certain gravellyness in his voice. He tilted Jimmy’s head up so their eyes could meet. Jimmy saw desire in Master Greg’s eyes and in the flare of his nostrils. “Is bestiality less abhorrent than rape, Jimmy?” Master Greg asked seriously. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Neither do I.” Master Greg closed his eyes and turned away. “I’d like to kiss you,” he whispered. 

“I’d like that, too, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered, wondering if Master Greg would believe him. 

“How do I know if you really do, though?” 

“Kiss me and find out,” Jimmy said, adding a bit of flirtatious challenge to his voice. He wasn’t used to flirting, not as a slave, but it felt like the proper thing to say and the proper tone to take. 

Master Greg’s lips parted slightly as he leaned over towards Jimmy. He closed his eyes and pressed his palm against Jimmy’s back to encourage him to sit up on his haunches and meet him halfway. Jimmy closed his own eyes and pressed his lips gently to his Master’s. It was a sweet kiss, a gentle, tentative kiss, like the ones as Wilson, but more passionate, and Jimmy loved it. He opened his mouth partway and Master Greg responded, deepening the kiss without adding tongue. Jimmy whimpered a little, wanting more. Master Greg pulled away. 

“Don’t be greedy, Jimmy,” he warned. 

“No, sir,” Jimmy agreed instantly, feeling shame in the heat on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir.” 

“You do have a sweet mouth,” Master Greg murmured, closing his eyes again to resume the kisses. 

They kissed at the same slow pace for over fifteen minutes. Neither of them were out of breath, but Jimmy’s erection ached in his jeans and he could tell from a quick look that his Master was aroused as well. He placed his left hand over the bulge as he kissed Master Greg a little harder. 

“Good boy,” Master Greg said in an affectionate voice Jimmy had never heard from him before. “But none of that now.” He removed Jimmy’s hand from his lap. 

“Master Greg?” 

“Heat up the massage oil, please. I’d like you to do my back.” 

Jimmy smiled to himself as he went to his assigned task. It was rare that Master Greg remembered to say please, but when he did, it meant that he was in a good mood. A relaxed mood. And those were the times when Jimmy felt more comfortable pushing the boundaries of Master Greg’s ‘no sex’ rule. After the kissing he thought he could get away with even more. Master Greg might not want Jimmy touching his penis quite yet, but that they’d kissed for so long and that Master Greg became aroused by it told Jimmy a lot. He selected the orange and sandalwood essence oil, knowing it was Master Greg’s favorite when he wanted a massage for pleasure rather than pain management. 

Jimmy found Master Greg sprawled out on his bed on his stomach, a pair of towels underneath him to protect the sheets. Master Greg was completely nude, and Jimmy couldn’t help but evaluate his Master’s body and find him handsome and attractive. Jimmy knelt beside his Master’s legs, warming a generous portion of oil in his palms before spreading it over his Master’s back. 

It became apparent rather soon into the massage that Master Greg remained aroused. He squirmed under Jimmy’s hands, and his breath became slightly labored. Jimmy used his thumbs and the pads of his hands to work through any tight spots on Master Greg’s back and shoulders, then moved to his thighs and calves. He shifted to kneeling between his Master’s knees. From behind and above like this, Jimmy had almost free rein over where he could touch his Master, as Master Greg didn’t mind the backs of his legs being touched the way he was sensitive about his damaged right leg. Jimmy used his position to his advantage, stroking closer and closer to Master Greg’s buttocks with each pass up his thighs. Master Greg shifted again, opening his legs in silent invitation. 

Jimmy rubbed Master Greg’s buttocks carefully. He’d only been allowed to do this a few times, and he’d overstepped the most recent time by trying to press his thumbs between Master Greg’s ass cheeks. It had been a calculated decision on his part, but he’d overestimated Master Greg’s tolerance for Jimmy’s boundary-stretching. This time, there was no protest. 

“More,” Master Greg huffed, pushing his hips up so his cheeks filled Jimmy’s palms. Jimmy warmed more oil. As Jimmy edged towards Master Greg’s hole, he felt a shiver of excited uneasiness. He’d never been permitted there before, not even to look when he’d been pushing the boundaries of the massages. Now, however, Master Greg was holding himself open for Jimmy’s eyes and fingers. He brushed an oily thumb over Master Greg’s opening and got a muffled groan in response. Master Greg had buried his face in his pillow. 

“What do you want, Master Greg?” Jimmy asked in a gentle whisper so as not to startle him. To his own ears, he sounded like a courteous lover asking for his partner’s preferences of the moment. His thumb pressed a little harder at Master Greg’s opening. He wasn’t trying to go inside, though, just arouse him. 

“What do _you_ want?” Master Greg replied, turning to look over his shoulder at Jimmy. His eyes were dilated and his cheeks were slightly pink. The intensity of his expression took Jimmy’s breath away. There was raw desire in his Master’s face. Raw, pure desire, and Jimmy wanted. He wanted so much, it was hard to know where to start, where to look or what to say. 

He massaged oil over and around Master Greg’s hole and Master Greg groaned louder, hiding his face again. “Yessss,” he hissed. Jimmy leaned over him, running his hands up Master Greg’s back. He kissed the back of Master Greg’s neck. “Oh, Jimmy,” Master Greg breathed. “So good, Jimmy. What do you _want_?” 

Jimmy swallowed nervously. He licked his lips. 

What did Master Greg want to hear? What did he want to do with Jimmy? That he wanted Jimmy was no longer in question. The question was what Jimmy could ask for and expect to get, or what he could hope for Master Greg to agree with. 

“Just tell me what you want,” Master Greg pleaded. “Anything. I just need to know you want this.” 

“I do,” Jimmy affirmed. 

“Then tell me,” Master Greg demanded. “Whatever it is. Tell me.” 

Jimmy let his eyes drift down Master Greg’s back to his ass, his hole, his balls, the small portion of his cock he saw. _I want to eat you out_ , Jimmy’s mind declared loudly, giving words to his true desires. _I want to fuck your hole with my tongue and stretch you with my fingers so I can get farther in. I want to make you come from just my tongue inside you. I want to taste every bit of you. I want to suck you off and bring you orgasm after orgasm after orgasm until you can’t move. Until you can’t remember your name, or mine, or anything other than the pleasure I give you. I want to feel your bare cock inside me, pounding against my prostate. I want your semen dribbling down my legs because there’s too much for me to hold inside. I want you to be the only one who touches me for the rest of my life._ He opened his mouth to answer. 

“Whatever you desire of me, sir,” Jimmy said, his voice sounding like he’d just come from the SAC. Nothing like the flirtatiousness of earlier. Nothing like the deep desire he felt throughout his body. 

Master Greg’s eyes narrowed in anger, hurt and betrayal. “Get out,” he snarled, his voice pure venom. 

. 

. 

. 


	11. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy faces the repercussions of his automatic response when trying to seduce Master Greg.

Master Greg didn’t return to the apartment for days. Jimmy missed him terribly, but kept himself busy with household chores, his assigned reading and the classes he still attended in the afternoons. A large number of packages arrived for his Master. He placed them in a pile on the coffee table. Four new medical journals came in the mail, and Jimmy wondered why his Master would subscribe to them when they had nothing to do with his specialties. _Slave Psychology, The Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, Mind-Wipe Technology and Medicine,_ and _Subjugation Psychology_ all seemed out of Dr. House’s usual reading tastes. Jimmy wondered if it was owning a slave himself that sparked Dr. House’s interest, or if the incident the other day had affected him more than he let on. 

It wasn’t just about owning a slave. He’d owned Jimmy for months already. 

That Master Greg left without a word to Jimmy told him how angry his Master was. He hadn’t even commented on Jimmy’s red-rimmed eyes, as he usually would. Jimmy tried to apologize, to explain that he hadn’t meant what he’d said, that he hadn’t known how or why it came out of his mouth, but Master Greg ignored him, swallowing his coffee and tossing the mug into the sink without regard for whether or not it broke. He’d been careful to avoid touching Jimmy, too, which was very unusual. He’d never minded the casual brush of fingers before. 

Jimmy cried himself to sleep every night, silently begging his Master to come back, to forgive him, to listen to him. He begged his Master to try again, to kiss him, to stop pushing him away. Most of all, he begged his Master to try to understand. Jimmy didn’t know what happened, but he thought Master Greg would be able to figure it out. He was the smartest man Jimmy had ever met, and if he couldn’t figure it out, no one could. 

On the fourth day, the phone rang. 

_“James, pick up,”_ Dr. House said into the answering machine. Jimmy answered immediately. _“There’s a man coming by the apartment in the next hour. He has a package for me, and you’ll give him $5000 for it. He expects twenty-five hundred, so the rest will be a bribe because he won’t want to give it to you. Open the package and make sure it’s genuine. You should be able to tell easily enough. Once it’s there, page me to let me know.”_

Jimmy puzzled over the strange instructions, but found the cash between two of Master Greg’s stashes. Why he kept that kind of money lying around his apartment in cash, Jimmy had no idea, but it seemed like he was about to find out. What could his Master have purchased that would cost so much? What would he want that was probably a black market item? 

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang, and Jimmy went to answer. A tall dark-skinned man in jeans and a hoodie stood in the doorway, a large package wrapped in brown paper in his hands. To Jimmy, he looked like the perfect candidate to be a slave handler at the SAC. 

“He didn’t tell me you were a slave,” the man said, upset. “I can’t give this to you.” 

“You’ll get twice as much as you asked for once I’m reassured that it’s genuine,” James said in a firm voice. He was doing this for his Master, and he couldn’t fail. He calmly met the man’s eyes, daring him to protest. “Here’s the first half,” he said, holding up an envelope. “This is the rest,” he added, showing the second. 

The man looked from the package to James’s collar to the envelopes and back to the package. He snatched an envelope and handed over the package, which felt like a book or large binder. James opened it and froze in shock, his stomach turning over violently. In his hands was a copy of the training manual for all employees of the SAC. It was huge, several thousands of pages, and while not new, it was in reasonable condition. He flipped through the book, noticing a few phrases here and there, enough to know that it was real, but not enough to read anything. Silently, he handed over the second envelope and waited while the man counted the hundred dollar bills. 

Once the man was gone, Jimmy re-wrapped the book so he wouldn’t have to look at it (the idea made him nauseated) and dialed the number to page his Master. _“It’s here.”_

Dr. House arrived home within the hour. He immediately picked up the handbook and opened to the table of contents. He scanned the headings and went to a particular page. He read for over an hour before he put the book down and acknowledged Jimmy. 

“Good work,” he said to Jimmy, ruffling his hair where he knelt by Dr. House’s chair, waiting for an order or just for his Master to pay attention to him. “He didn’t put up a fuss?” 

“No, Dr. House. He seemed to think getting double was an acceptable agreement.” 

“Good. If I’d known it was this easy to get one of these, I’d have gotten one a lot sooner,” he added, petting the book. Jimmy swallowed nervously and lowered his head. 

“Make dinner and bring me a beer,” Master Greg said another hour later. He’d started at the beginning of the Handbook, and seemed to be settling in for a long reading session. “And open these packages and bring them and the new journals over here, too.” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy said in a slightly discouraged voice. He’d really messed up the other day, hadn’t he? Master Greg was still barely speaking to him, and now he had information on training slaves that could forever change his way of dealing with Jimmy. He got halfway to his feet when Master Greg grabbed his neck and pulled him forward so that he was resting his elbows on the couch arm. 

“I’m not punishing you for the other day,” Master Greg told him firmly. 

“Whatever you say, Master Greg.” 

“Don’t sound so down, Jimmy,” Master Greg chided. “I’m doing this to help you.” 

“Yes, Master Greg. Thank you, Master Greg.” 

Master Greg sighed in aggravation. “Go.” He turned back to his book. 

Every package Jimmy opened contained books and manuals on how to care for, own responsibly, discipline and re-sell one’s slaves. There were books on how to purchase the right slave for a Master’s personality and needs, or the needs of a household that could only afford one slave. There were books on the psychology of slaves, of Masters, and of their relationships. 

More packages came as the weeks passed, and Master Greg developed a huge new library. 

There were books on the tools to use with slaves, the appropriate punishments for mistakes/refusals to work, ways to encourage a slave to do better at his work. There were books on how to use a slave sexually, and how to train one’s slave for particular activities and roles. There were books on ‘the intelligent slave’ and books on how to make a slave more docile and obedient without beating them. (Jimmy glanced at the back of that book, and discovered that it probably encouraged Masters to use pleasurable sexual activities and special food that the slave liked to make them happier and thus more willing to preform.) There was a book on training one’s slave to go long periods without food, water, toilet or social contact. There were the medical books about slaves. There were the practical applications of SAC-developed training programs in maintaining healthy slaves. There were detailed descriptions of how to use various household implements as either tools of punishment or tools of pleasure. 

Then there were the books by abolitionists. Books that talked about the policies of slavery, pro and con. Books that highlighted how inhumane it was to make, create and own slaves. Books that decried slavery as a kind of social control. Books that talked about manumitted slaves and the traumas they reported while they were slaves and their struggles once freed. There were books on ‘green’ companies that didn’t own slaves, and assessments of governments around the world based on their laws about slavery. There were even books on the Bible and slavery, and whether slavery was a sin or a necessary part of life. (The conclusion: Slavery was allowed in the Bible, so it shouldn’t be a problem in modern-day life.) 

There were personal accounts and diaries by slaves, former-slaves, and Masters/Mistresses who freed their slaves. There were first-person narratives of why slave training was torture, and there were essays on what changes society would have to go through to abolish slavery. There were real-life accounts of Masters and Mistresses who fell in love with their slaves, and what happened to their lives. (Many ended up becoming slaves themselves, though one or two managed to keep their relationship secret until they died and their memoirs were published posthumously.) 

One ad for a book on the back cover of _Slave Psychology_ stood out with lurid colors. _SubCon: Fact or Fiction._ Jimmy wasn’t sure what that meant, but the title stuck with him. It hadn’t been published yet, but Jimmy fully expected it to arrive at the apartment, given Master Greg’s new obsession. 

Master Greg told Jimmy that he was allowed to read any of the books and journals that he wanted, but the nausea returned every time he tried to open the covers. Even reading the summaries on the back made him want to throw up most of the time. Master Greg told him it was probably a conditioned response and not to worry about it. Jimmy could ask if he was curious about something. 

One afternoon, when he was cleaning up after his Master's habit of leaving medical texts and journals lying around the living room, Jimmy thought he found the answer to the question of why Master Greg never used him sexually.     

Master Greg had left the SAC Handbook open to a particular page, and Jimmy couldn't help but glance at the topics.  He didn't read it, he’d learned that trying would make him feel nauseated, but the topic header at the top of the page was Sexual Response Training.  It looked like Master Greg had gone over that particular section many times, if the creased paper and grease-stains on the edges of the pages were any indication.  As Jimmy flipped through the book, he noticed a highlighted section and couldn't stop himself from reading, even with the nausea.   

_"Any slave, male or female, will learn to become sexually responsive to any kind of sexual treatment with the proper training.  We recommend beginning training as soon as the slave has been processed so that by the first or second shift, the slave had been used at least once.  The manner of use may vary depending on the slave's orientation and inclinations, however by fifth shift, the slave should have been used by an equal number of men and women so that he learns that anyone, at any time, has the right to use him.  If the slave dislikes a particular act, that act will be repeated with increasing frequency until the slave learns that responding positively will reduce the need for restraints or punishments.”_

Jimmy thought he would be sick.  Really sick. Was his response to Master Greg more about being trained to respond to men sexually than about his own feelings?  It hadn't felt like it before now, but could Jimmy be sure?  He thought back.  He’d been attracted to Master Greg from the moment he met him, and he'd wanted to be used by him from that same moment.  He remembered lying on the welcome mat wishing his Master had used him before sending him outside, and wanting to feel his Master's cock inside him.  He'd never _wanted_ to be used before.  He knew that with a certainty.   

Yes, he'd begged to be used, or to be allowed to come.  That was part of his training, too. Freemen and -women liked to hear slaves begging. He’d thought about being used, about certain acts that felt good, physically, but he’d never thought about a specific person using him before Master Greg.   

He closed his eyes and felt tears on his cheeks.  Master Greg probably didn't want Jimmy's reactions to be based on training.  He wanted Jimmy's reactions to be real.   

How could Jimmy express his desire for his Master in a way that his Master would understand?   

It seemed too big a challenge for him. 

. 

. 

. 

“Are you an abolitionist?” Jimmy asked his Master one evening, weeks after Master Greg started his campaign to read every book and journal article about slavery that he could get his hands on. 

“No,” Master Greg said without looking up from the notes he was taking. “The movement isn’t organized enough for me to support it.” 

“Do you — do you believe in slavery?” 

Master Greg chuckled. He reach down and ruffled Jimmy’s hair and stroked his cheek gently. Jimmy nuzzled his hand, glad that Master Greg had started adding these tiny gestures back into their relationship. He liked it when Master Greg touched him. “Now that’s a better question. No, I don’t believe in slavery. But it’s real, and it’s here, and I have to live within that framework and world.” 

“Why don’t you believe in it?” 

“Because I don’t want to have to own you. I don’t think anyone can own another person.” 

“I’m not a person anymore, Master Greg,” Jimmy pointed out. 

“I know you think that. I know you believe it. But I don’t.” 

Jimmy nodded and returned to reading the oncology journal Master Greg brought home from the hospital for him. His instructions were to read the article by Dr. Brown (PPTH’s Oncology Department Head) and critique it. Dr. Brown wasn’t a very good writer, nor were his conclusions particularly insightful. 

“When you pass the classes, I’m bringing you to the hospital with me to meet him,” Dr. House said. 

Jimmy’s ears perked up and he raised his head again. 

“I’m going to have you shadow me as much as possible.” 

“Thank you, Master Greg!” Jimmy exclaimed happily. Master Greg had mentioned this once a while ago, but not since then, and Jimmy had wondered if Master Greg had forgotten that part of the promise. He was really looking forward to being in a hospital again. He wanted more social contact than Master Greg and the occasional visitors. Though, if he were allowed to say anything, he thought Master Greg could pick better poker player friends. 


	12. Lesson #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Greg attempts to teach Jimmy a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warnings for corporeal punishment and contemplated rape.

Jimmy could tell as soon as he returned from his classes that Master Greg was in a foul mood. The tv was on mute, turned to a nature documentary about birds, not one of Master Greg’s usual preferences. The newest book in Master Greg’s collection _SubCon: Fact or Fiction_ lay on the couch cushion next to Master Greg, face-down and open. Master Greg hadn’t turned on many lights, and he had a bottle of scotch on the coffee table and a glass in his hand. Master Greg rarely drank before dinner these days. 

“I’m back, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, removing his coat and hanging it on the coatrack by the door. Master Greg grunted in response but didn’t even turn his head to acknowledge Jimmy. Strange. “What would you like for dinner?” 

Master Greg continued to ignore him, lost in whatever dark mood he’d found himself, so Jimmy started his evening routine of straightening up in preparation for making dinner. He peeked over his shoulder at his Master while he scrubbed the kitchen counter and saw the scowl on his face. He sighed. Even in the worst of moods, Master Greg usually said hello when he first saw Jimmy after work or the rare occasions when Master Greg returned home while Jimmy was at class. He opened the fridge and decided that there were enough ingredients for his home-made Chinese. Master Greg liked it a lot, and Jimmy tried to make it at least once a week. He started cooking. 

“What the fuck is this?” Master Greg demanded when Jimmy handed him a plate of food. 

“Chinese, Master Greg. I thought —“ 

“Since when do you get to decide?” Master Greg sneered. He dumped the food and plate over the arm of the couch to land with a splat on the floor. 

“But, Master —“ 

“Strip,” Master Greg barked. Jimmy’s hands were moving before he consciously heard the order. He stood naked before his Master. He hadn’t been naked with Master Greg since the day after they met, when Master Greg had cleaned him up after sending him to the building’s hallway for a day and a half. He felt a flush of shame on his cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to be naked… And yet he didn’t move to cover himself, either. Slave training, he recognized. _Never cover your genitals when naked._

“Inspection,” Master Greg declared in a firm voice. Jimmy spread his legs and held his arms outstretched. He raised his head and stared into the middle distance, his entire body tense, waiting. Anything could happen when he was in the Inspection position. The SAC had trained him on that, as well. Pain or pleasure… a beating or sex… or his body hair could be shaved off… or a dildo shoved up his ass to stretch him… or a gag put in his mouth… or blinders over his eyes… or restraints… Master Greg had never ordered him to this position before, and Jimmy felt a shiver of fear run up his spine. Master Greg could do anything to him in this position… 

Jimmy hadn’t known that Master Greg was even aware of this order. He’d never had a slave before Jimmy, after all, and he’d been so uncomfortable about it at first. And he’d never really treated Jimmy the way Masters usually treated their slaves. He’d been treating Jimmy as close to a person as Jimmy’s training would allow. He’d been pushing Jimmy’s boundaries about feeling like a person and worthy of food, water, clothing, health, education and purpose the way Jimmy had been pushing Master Greg’s boundaries about sex. 

Had all the reading about slaves changed Master Greg’s mind about him? Taught him more rules and instructions that he wanted to try out? Had reading the new book upset Master Greg or told him he was doing something wrong with Jimmy? 

Master Greg stood and circled him a few times, reaching out occasionally to run impersonal fingers over his skin. He cupped Jimmy’s ass. He examined Jimmy’s genitals. 

“Fill.” 

Jimmy’s cock started hardening. He looked down at it, feeling betrayed by his body. How could one word do that? How could one command take away all of his initiative, all his free will? 

But Jimmy was a slave. He didn’t have free will, no matter what freedoms and privileges Master Greg tried to give him. Jimmy was a slave, and his body wasn’t his own. 

“Kneel there,” Master Greg ordered, pointing to the couch. He grabbed the new book and tossed it over his shoulder. “Over the arm.” Again, Jimmy moved before he decided to. His erection brushed against the towel Master Greg had left over the couch arm and seat that Jimmy hadn’t noticed. It was one of the old, rough ones Master Greg used under himself when Jimmy massaged his leg to protect the bedding from oil. It felt scratchy and wrong against his sensitive skin. 

It didn’t matter. Master Greg was his owner. Master Greg could make him rub sandpaper on his penis if he wanted… 

Master Greg grabbed Jimmy’s wrists and pulled his arms behind his back, locking his wrists into padded leather restraints. Specially ordered, Jimmy thought, for there was give in the chain between them and he’d be able to shift his arms and back if he needed to. Assuming Master Greg wanted him to stay in this position for a long time, anyway. He’d never wanted Jimmy to hold a particular position before, though it had been common to test slaves at the SAC — and there he hadn’t had restraints to help him. 

“Present yourself,” Master Greg said in a softer voice, though it was clearly still an order. Jimmy leaned forward, spread his legs and arched his back, offering his hole to Master Greg. His cock jerked of its own accord. The only times he’d been in this position, someone had used him. Fucked him. 

_Raped him_ , a small, terrified voice whispered in the back of his mind. 

“Beg me for it and don’t stop until I tell you to,” Master Greg growled, and the words tumbled out of Jimmy’s mouth in a rushed blur. 

“Please fuck me, Master Greg. Please. Please use me!” 

There was a quiet whistling in the air, then the loud crack as Master Greg swung a cane at Jimmy’s ass. It hurt. Burned. Master Greg had never caned him before and he wasn’t used to it after all this time, but he didn’t make a sound and continued begging. He hadn’t been told to stop. 

“Please fuck me. Oh, please! Use me. Use me however you want. Fuck me, please. Fuck me hard!” 

Another crack and the cane left a second line of fire across Jimmy’s backside. He had no idea what was going on. Why was Master Greg caning him? Why did he want Jimmy naked and offering himself if not to use him? What had changed for Master Greg in the last five hours that pushed him to this point, when he’d never wanted Jimmy naked or to punish him corporally or to use him sexually? Jimmy felt his entire world tilting on its axis. What was going on? 

“Please fuck me!” 

Master Greg reached between Jimmy’s legs and felt his erection. It wasn’t sexual. It felt more like an assessment than anything else. He was a cattle at auction. 

Worse — a thing. 

“Fill!” Master Greg shouted. Jimmy’s cock twitched in Master Greg’s hand, becoming painfully hard. He hadn’t been this hard in years… 

“Please fuck me! Please, please fuck me!” He felt tears in the corners of his eyes. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted Master Greg to fuck him. He wanted Master Greg’s cock — 

A third line of fire. 

“Louder,” Master Greg demanded. “Make me believe it, you little slut.” 

“Please please please fuck me!” 

The fourth stripe felt almost pleasurable to Jimmy, he was so turned on and wanting. He realized he was moving his hips, searching backwards for touch, moving forward for friction against his cock, wanting Master Greg’s fingers or cock or _anything_. Anything inside his ass would be welcome. _Anything._

“Please fuck me,” Jimmy begged, desperate. Something had happened to him that he didn’t understand, for him to be begging and wanting so much so quickly. “Please fuck me. Please fuck me! I need it! I need your cock! I need —“ 

“I don’t believe you, Jimmy-boy,” Master Greg hissed, his breath warm on the back of Jimmy’s ear. He caressed Jimmy’s ass, feeling the lines of fire he’d left there. He scratched his nails over the marks. Jimmy squirmed at the pleasure-pain of it. 

“Please fuck me. Please fuck me. Please fuck me,” Jimmy chanted. “Please fuck me. Please fuck me.” 

Master Greg swung, the hardest hit of them all, and Jimmy knew that mark would be with him for a few days. 

“Please fuck me!” Jimmy was weeping openly, now. He couldn’t control it. The combination of pleasure and pain and uncertainty and need made his head swim. The unexpected shame of baring himself to his Master like this, to begging for sex when he wasn’t certain he wanted it. 

Oh, he wanted sex! He wanted it _desperately_ , but not like this. He wanted the tenderness he knew was inside Master Greg. He wanted the affection he’d seen in such small doses over the months. He wanted the touches, the smiles, the flirty laughs. He wanted the foreplay, the kissing, the easy, relaxed discovery of his lover’s body. 

Jimmy didn’t have a lover. Jimmy would never have a lover. He was a slave, there to be used by his owner. Master Greg was his owner, and if Master Greg wanted to beat him before he fucked him, that was his right. If Master Greg never wanted to kiss Jimmy again after that painful incident a few weeks ago, that was his right. He had no obligation to be gentle with Jimmy. He had no compulsion to be compassionate, or to take Jimmy’s thoughts and feelings into consideration. 

Jimmy’s thoughts and feelings didn’t matter. 

The calculated brutality of Master Greg’s words and actions this evening were so different from his usual demeanor. But it wasn’t brutality, was it? Master Greg owned him, owned his body, and there was nothing brutal about teaching one’s property a lesson, was there? 

“Please fuck me,” he begged again. 

“You want it, Jimmy?” Master Greg growled, leaning over Jimmy. “You want my cock inside you?” He prodded Jimmy’s opening with gloved, lubed fingers. 

“Please fuck me!” Jimmy’s tears welled up faster and faster. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want it this way. “Please,” he whimpered. 

Master Greg stretched him while Jimmy cried. He ignored Jimmy’s soft pleading, though Jimmy had long since dropped anything but the word ‘please.’ He didn’t know what he was begging for anymore. He didn’t know what was going to happen, and that scared him. He no longer understood Master Greg. He no longer knew what to expect from him, if he could change so quickly into becoming this new man. 

This man who treated him like one of the SAC handlers would have done… 

Master Greg removed his glove and dropped in on the floor next to the spilled Chinese food, right in Jimmy’s line of sight. Master Greg picked up the cane. 

“You can stop begging now. What have I just taught you?” 

“I don’t know, Master Greg. Please. Please tell me so I can learn.” 

“Not good enough. Count them.” 

Wood whistled through the air. Crack! “One, sir,” Jimmy gasped through his tears. 

Master Greg stopped at fifteen and dropped the cane with a sound of disgust. It landed across the food. Jimmy’s eyes were closed, and he hadn’t stopped crying the entire time. He’d even screamed at the pain a few times before he’d been able to give Master Greg the number. Master Greg had barked at him to stay quiet unless he wanted to be gagged, and Jimmy had clamped down on his screams after that. 

He’d almost forgotten the number once, and that would have been a disaster. Master Greg would have started at the beginning, he was sure. That’s what they always did at the SAC, after all. That’s what Mistress Bethany would do. 

Jimmy felt something at his hole again, and recognized a butt plug almost instantly. Master Greg wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t try to make it hurt. It had been a very long time since anything had been up Jimmy’s ass, and he felt painfully full and stretched. He wondered how long he’d have to wear it. 

The sting of antiseptic on his bruised (and possibly bleeding) ass startled Jimmy out of a haze of pain, fear, shame, and, dammit, arousal. He was still rock hard and desperate for release. 

Master Greg took hold of the butt plug and began shoving it in and out of Jimmy’s ass. “Come,” he said, pressing the end of the plug against Jimmy’s prostate. Relief flooded Jimmy as his orgasm took over, spilling his semen onto the towel. It wasn’t pleasurable in the usual sense that Masters or Mistresses would think of it, but it was enough. Jimmy would no longer be painfully erect, even if he was left draped over the arm of the couch with cane marks, a pug in his ass and his arms restrained behind his back. That was something. 

“I expect you to tell me what you’ve learned when I get back.” Master Greg moved so that Jimmy could see his sneakers and cane. “Stay,” Master Greg ordered. He turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving Jimmy alone. 

. 

. 

. 


	13. Jimmy's Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy tries to figure out the lesson Master Greg gave him.

Jimmy had pissed himself. Worse than that, he hadn’t been able to move to clean it up. He had to lie there, restrained, stewing in his own urine and cum, feeling it drying against his skin. He wanted to move. He wanted to be able to look at something other than the mess on the floor, the mess he’d created. 

Chinese food Master Greg hadn’t wanted. A lube-covered glove that Master Greg had been kind enough to use when he stretched Jimmy. The cane that had given him twenty stripes on his ass because Master Greg had wanted to teach him a lesson. 

Only, Jimmy didn’t know what the lesson was. Master Greg never explained himself. 

Master Greg didn’t have to explain himself. He was Jimmy’s Master, his owner. It was Jimmy’s job to figure out what the lesson was and learn it. (Even though Master Greg was usually good about telling Jimmy why he was being punished.) 

He tried to wipe his face on the towel under his cheek, but he only got a face full of snot and tears from when he’d been weeping earlier. When he’d been taking his punishment. 

He didn’t know what he’d been punished for, either, other than not knowing the lesson. It had felt like a punishment. Being forced to count the strokes told him it was a punishment instead of the lesson that the first five had been. Jimmy had clearly failed the lesson, to get the punishment. 

It became even more imperative to figure out what the lesson was. If he didn’t know and couldn’t tell Master Greg when he got back, he’d be in for a worse punishment. Maybe Master Greg would take a riding crop to him? Or the flogger Mistress Stacy had been sure to include in the original box of ‘slave shit’ she’d acquired when she bought Jimmy for Master Greg. If he still didn’t know what the lesson was, he could be whipped. 

He’d only been whipped six times… he didn’t want to have it happen again. Not from Master Greg. Not from the man he’d fallen in love with. Not from the man who probably hated him now that he knew Jimmy couldn’t learn his lessons. 

God, but the whippings hurt so much! 

Jimmy had no idea what time it was. Daytime, but that was all he knew. He’d slept fitfully off and on through the night, his ears attuned to the sound of the door and his Master returning. Master Greg hadn’t returned by the time the sun rose, and Jimmy despaired. He had to use the bathroom, but without Master Greg allowing it, or telling him he could move, he was stuck on the couch. One-word orders said in an SAC-voice countermanded any previous orders, like Master Greg’s instructions when he first got Jimmy that he could use the toilet whenever he needed to. So Jimmy had held it in as long as he could, but he couldn’t hold it forever and he’d pissed himself. 

Again. 

The shame of it made Jimmy cry. How could he have let this happen? How could he do it on Master Greg’s couch, towel down, or not? He knew he’d get a beating for it. Now that Master Greg had punished him physically, Jimmy expected all the usual punishments to come back into his life in full force. He thought about the past 24 hours and tallied his mistakes. 

Cook the wrong meal for his Master: five to ten strokes.   
Make a mess: five strokes.   
Crying while taking a beating: five strokes.   
Not knowing what the lesson was: ten strokes.   
Failure to learn lesson: fifteen strokes.   
Piss yourself: ten to twenty strokes.   
Failure to do morning cleaning: ten strokes.   
Failure to wash or groom self: five strokes.   
Failure to make breakfast: five to ten strokes.   
Failure to go to class in the afternoon: twenty strokes.   
Failure to greet Master at the door: five strokes.   


Jimmy’s inability to do many of those things because he’d been told to stay didn’t matter. He’d still get caned. It was his Master’s prerogative. 

He was a slave, there for his Master’s convenience. When he was no longer useful, his Master could sell him. 

Jimmy began crying again at the thought. Master Greg could sell him! Master Greg, who’d tagged him so that strangers couldn’t use him. Master Greg, who was kind enough to teach Jimmy lessons, and allow him to go to the classes, and wanted Jimmy to be more useful because of his pre-collared skillset. 

But Master Greg never used Jimmy sexually, and he knew that was one of his biggest assets. He had a nice mouth. He had a tight ass. 

Did the introduction of physical punishments mean that Master Greg was about to use him? 

Jimmy’s ass tightened in anticipation around the plug he still wore. 

Master Greg hadn’t made it hurt when he stretched and put the plug in Jimmy, so it was reasonable to anticipate him using lube and not doing damage when he fucked Jimmy. 

Maybe this treatment was a good thing? Maybe Master Greg would come home, allow Jimmy to clean up, and take him to the bedroom to use him? Maybe all his flirting and seduction plans were about to pay out? Maybe he’d be able to show Master Greg how devoted to his pleasure he was? To suck his cock and bend over for him and wash him in the shower and use his mouth as a nice warm spot for Master Greg to leave his cock when he was reading or watching tv or — 

Jimmy felt himself becoming hard again. Other than during training, he’d never been used as a cock-warmer. The thought of Master Greg using him that way made his entire body flush with heat and arousal. The trust Master Greg would have to put in Jimmy to allow that! 

He’d have to earn the privilege, he knew. He’d have to be a good slave. The best slave! 

He’d have to know and have learned the lesson by the time Master Greg got back. 

But what was the lesson? That he was a slave? He already knew that! 

That Masters were capricious and were always right? He knew that, too! 

That Master Greg could do anything he wanted to him? He knew that most of all! He wanted that! He wanted Master Greg to use him. He wanted Master Greg to give him orders and assignments and praise. His entire life, his entire _being_ , was dedicated to Master Greg. 

He thought back farther. Master Greg hit him the first time after he’d ordered Jimmy to beg to be used. Was he supposed to learn that his body was there for Master Greg to use at his will? He knew that! 

Was it that Master Greg could make him beg? He knew that, too! 

Was it that Master Greg could turn his world upside down whenever he wanted? Of course he knew that! 

He closed his eyes to better relive the day before. 

Maybe, if he was lucky, he could figure it out… 

. 

. 

. 


	14. Jimmy's Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Greg comes home to finish teaching Jimmy his lesson.

Jimmy raised his head when he heard the front door open.Master Greg walked in, holding the mail in his free hand, the other gripping his cane.He sniffed the air and glanced at Jimmy.There was no doubt he could smell the urine.At least the butt plug had kept Jimmy from soiling himself as well as pissing himself. 

“You stayed,” Master Greg said, his voice cold and neutral. 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered, hanging his head again. 

“You stayed, even though you needed the toilet and I’d told you that you could use it when you needed it.” 

“Yes, Master Greg.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you told me to, sir.” 

Master Greg’s voice sounded normal to Jimmy.Normal normal, not angry normal, not frustrated normal, not upset normal, not in pain normal.Just regular normal.Neutral.He wondered what was going to happen next.With a Master in a neutral mood, there were lots of ways his slave could make mistakes to turn the mood sour.Jimmy tried not to think of all the ways he could fuck up more than he already had. 

He was bound to do it, though.He was such a bad slave, such bad property. 

He couldn’t even hold his urine. 

Master Greg selected a large manilla envelope and tossed the rest of the mail on the table by the door for Jimmy to sort later.He opened it and pulled out a certificate of some kind.He raised his eyebrows. 

“You passed,” Master Greg said, holding the paper so Jimmy could see.“I can begin the paperwork to have you added to my license.”He put the certificate back in the envelope and left it on the table.“Good work.That was two weeks faster than I expected.A month and a half early.”Master Greg grinned and ruffled Jimmy’s hair.“I knew you were smart.” 

“Thank you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, responding to the praise, since he didn’t know what to say about the rest.He felt a blush on his cheeks — both sets. 

Master Greg nodded to himself.“God, you stink, though,” he muttered.“Go clean up.Take out the plug, use the toilet and shower.Lots of soap, hot water.Then clean all this mess,” he added, indicating the food on the floor and the couch in a single waved gesture. 

“Yes, Master Greg.Thank you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, the relief at being able to move, and clean himself, clear in his voice. 

Master Greg grunted and disappeared into his bedroom after removing the restraints from Jimmy’s wrists. 

Jimmy scrambled to the bathroom, moving slowly as his body got used to the movement again.He groaned in pleasure at being able to use the toilet for the first time in nearly 24 hours.He started relaxing under the hot water as he scrubbed himself clean.Dressed in fresh clothing, Jimmy went to clean the couch, only to find a rubber sheet underneath the towel.Had Master Greg put it there because he’d anticipated staying away long enough that Jimmy wouldn’t be able to hold his urine?It certainly made the cleaning go more quickly, and within the hour, everything was back where it was supposed to be. 

Master Greg must have some kind of ESP, because he reentered the living room as Jimmy was putting away the cleaning supplies. 

“Down,” he said, using the appropriate hand motion for the order.This was new, Jimmy reflected as he knelt on the floor in front of Master Greg in supplication pose, as that particular hand motion required.Master Greg rarely used the hand motions.“Have you learned your lesson?” Master Greg asked. 

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush.“I — I’m sorry, Master Greg, I don’t know what the lesson —“ 

“You don’t know?” Master Greg demanded incredulously.“Still?I gave you a whole day to think about it!” 

“No, Master Greg.I’m sorry, Master Greg.”Jimmy swallowed.“I thought of so many things, but none of them were new enough to be a lesson.I’m a slave, Master Greg.You own me.You control everything about my life.You tell me what to do and not do.You can do anything you want with me.You’re my reason for being.” 

Master Greg sighed, running his fingers through his hair.“Look at me,” he said softly. 

Jimmy lifted his head to meet his Master’s eyes.All he could see was disappointment and… sadness?Was Master Greg sad that Jimmy hadn’t figured out his lesson? 

Master Greg reached out and fingered the silver tag on Jimmy’s collar.He stroked it with his thumb in an oddly sensual gesture.With a vicious tug, Master Greg pulled the tag from Jimmy’s collar and tossed it away.Designed to be broken, the tag was now useless, unable to be put back on Jimmy’s collar.Master Greg would have to order a new one if he wanted to tag Jimmy again.Jimmy felt all the blood drain from his face. 

Oh, God, what was going on?Why would Master Greg take his tag?Why would he leave Jimmy open to the sexual needs of other freemen and -women?Did he want Jimmy to be used?Did he want Jimmy to be _raped_? 

Slaves can’t be raped.They’re property, things.Things can’t be raped. 

Master Greg stood.“Slave Chow when you’re hungry.I expect the place to be spotless when I get back.You will finish your classes even though you’ve passed, resuming them on Monday.” 

Master Greg picked up his leather briefcase and headed for the door.Jimmy watched him go, feeling a sense of dread in his stomach.Master Greg wanted him used by other people, Jimmy realized.Why else would he remove the tag?Why else would he send him to class without the tag as protection?The handlers who transported him would use him.He’d overheard them lamenting that he was tagged.The teacher would use him.If he ran into a freeman in the restroom, he’d be used. 

He’d be _raped_.Over and over again, as often as the freemen and -women wanted, and he couldn’t stop them.He couldn’t even report it to Master Greg, like he’d be obligated to do if someone touched him when he was tagged. 

He’d be _raped._ Master Greg had set him up to be raped! 

“No!” he wailed, unable to stop the outburst.He crawled towards his Master on his belly.“No, don’t take my tag!No!Please, Master Greg, please don’t take it!I’ll learn!I promise I’ll learn!I’ll be good.I’ll do anything!Just don’t take it!” 

Without turning, Master Greg made a sharp gesture with his hand.“Fill,” he barked. 

To Jimmy’s horror, his dick started hardening. 

“Strip.Present yourself.” 

Jimmy found himself naked on the floor, face pressed to the hardwood and ass in the air before he could fit his mind around the order.What was Master Greg doing?Did he _want_ Jimmy?Finally, after all these months?And why like this?Why make it feel so much like —

“No, Master Greg.Please, no.Not like this.Please, Master Greg.Please.I want it, but not like this.” 

“Beg me for it,” Master Greg said in a hard voice. 

Just like the day before, Jimmy’s mouth took over, begging Master Greg for sex.He wiggled his ass.He tried to open his legs even farther to entice Master Greg. 

He sobbed. 

He didn’t think he had any more tears in him after the last day, but clearly he was wrong.Master Greg was going to take him there on the floor.Use him.Fuck him. 

Rape him. 

He’d never thought Master Greg would cross that line.Master Greg had morals, ideals.True, he wasn’t as strict as many people, and he routinely broke laws and rules in order to find the diagnoses so he could treat his patients, but he’d never deliberately hurt anyone, as far as Jimmy knew.Master Greg hadn’t raped anyone.Jimmy didn’t think Master Greg was able to do something like that.But here they were. 

Master Greg got on his knees behind Jimmy and ran a possessive hand over his back.He scratched the leftover welts from the caning.“You want it, Jimmy-boy?I’m starting to believe you,” he growled in Jimmy’s ear. 

“Please please please please fuck me,” Jimmy said, pushing back to rub his ass against Master Greg.Master Greg slapped him before he could reach.The sting of the welts made Jimmy hiss in pain. 

“Don’t get greedy, Jimmy.” 

“I’m sorry, Master Greg.Please fuck me, Master Greg.Please.” 

Master Greg chuckled evilly.“Your ass belongs to me,” Master Greg said.“And I have a lot of ideas about what I want to do with it.You want to hear them, don’t you?” 

“Yes, Master Greg.Please tell me.”Jimmy felt his insides curl into an even harder knot.“Please fuck me however you want.” 

“I’m going to pound into you,” Master Greg breathed, his hands roaming over Jimmy’s skin.“Dry.Hard.Harder than you’ve ever been fucked in your life.” 

“Please, Master Greg,” Jimmy whimpered.“Please.” 

“You’ve been teasing me for months, Jimmy.You’ve been trying to seduce me.You think I didn’t know?I know all your tricks, Jimmy.I know you want everything I’m going to do to you.You want that dry, hard fuck, don’t you?” Master Greg purred, his voice dripping seduction. 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy said as tears streamed down his face. _No!No, please use lube.If you’re going to fuck me, at least use lube!You’re a doctor, for god’s sake!_

“You’ve been showing me what a little whore you are with all those little flirtations, haven’t you?You’ve been convincing me what a little slut you are, and you know what?I don’t think I can satisfy you.I don’t think I’m enough for this greedy hole of yours.” 

“Master Greg,” Jimmy gasped.“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

_Please don’t rape me!_ Jimmy’s mind screamed. 

“Please fuck me,” Jimmy’s voice said. 

Master Greg pressed his entire body over Jimmy’s, curling around him.Jimmy felt the sharp sting of his zipper against his abused ass, even without an erection from Master Greg.“I should give you to Dobson,” Master Greg growled.“Maybe he and his friends would make better use of you than me.What do you think?” 

_No!No!Don’t give me to him!Please, please don’t give me to him!_

“Whatever you wish, Master Greg.” 

Suddenly, Master Greg was yanking on Jimmy’s collar, pulling him up so that he sat on his haunches with his back pressed against Master Greg’s chest and his cock spearing the air.Master Greg grabbed Jimmy’s erection. 

“I should cage you,” he said, squeezing tightly.“Do you want me to cage you?You’d never have to worry about having an orgasm again.” 

_Don’t cage me, please don’t cage me!It’s so dangerous!No, please don’t!_

“Whatever you wish, Master Greg.” 

Master Greg licked the shell of Jimmy’s ear, and he shivered in fear and arousal. 

“Give me the truth, Jimmy.Do you want me to fuck you like this?” 

_No!_

“Yes, Master Greg.Please.” 

Jimmy sobbed in horror at his body’s betrayal.At his mouth’s betrayal.How could he say ‘yes’ when all he wanted to do was scream ‘no’ at the top of his lungs?He started to keen. 

“Eeeee— Eeeee —“

“The truth, Jimmy!” Master Greg shouted, tugging painfully on Jimmy’s collar and cock.“Tell me the truth!Do you want me to fuck you dry and hard on the floor?” 

_No!No!No, please, no!_

“Eeeee— Eeeee — Eeeee — ” 

With a growl of disgust, Master Greg shoved Jimmy to the floor and got to his feet, moving stiffly on account of his leg. 

“ _That_ is why I won’t have sex with you,” Master Greg snarled.He picked up his cane.“You can’t even say no when you think I’m going to force you.How would I know you actually want sex?”He moved to the cabinet and pulled out the whiskey.He took a long drink straight from the bottle — three huge swallows.“You’ve been brainwashed so deeply to want to please your Masters that you can’t even tell us the truth.You can’t say no to us, no matter how much you want to.” 

Jimmy lay on the floor, sobbing.“I’m sorry, Master Greg.I’m sorry!” 

“I bet you thought you couldn’t lie to me, huh?They tell you that at the SAC?Slaves can’t lie to their Masters?It’s bullshit, Jimmy.You’re lying every second of every day.”Master Greg tapped a book he’d picked up from somewhere. _SubCon Commands and Training._ Jimmy had never seen it before.“It’s all in here.” 

Still sobbing, Jimmy crawled towards Master Greg.Master Greg, who hadn’t raped him.Master Greg, who played at doing it to teach Jimmy a lesson.Master Greg, who didn’t want to hurt him.Master Greg, who _cared_ about him.Master Greg, who _wouldn’t rape_ him.Ever.No matter what. 

Jimmy felt his love for Master Greg burst forth like fireworks in his head. _I love you!I love you!Please, please let me show you my love!_

Jimmy started licking his Master’s shoes, heaping on gratitude between licks. 

“You might find me attractive,” Master Greg continued, unaware of Jimmy’s internal emotional shift, though he shoved Jimmy away from his feet roughly.“You might actually want to have sex with me, even.But no matter how much you think you want it, it’s a lie.There’s a fourth level of Mind-Wipe they don’t tell anyone about, you know.They give it to every slave, no matter what else they do to them.It happens when you first get collared.They train you for at least six months.They torture you.They convince you so deeply that you’re worth nothing, that your body isn’t yours, that you always have to please your Masters.They convince you that you can _never_ deny a freeman or -woman sex.You didn’t know the ‘fill’ command before, did you?” 

Jimmy shook his head, trying to control his sobs.He loved Master Greg.He thought he had before, but that was nothing next to this feeling.Master Greg saved him.Master Greg was protecting him. 

Maybe Master Greg liked him?Why such a wonderful man would like such a lowly slave, Jimmy couldn’t imagine, but maybe he did. 

“Then they take all those memories away and leave them in your subconscious to come out as little time bombs like what happened just now.Your mind would have melted if I’d kept pressing for the truth, Jimmy.Then you’d have been a shell, only good as part of a medical experiment.” 

Jimmy moaned.“Please, Master Greg,” he whispered.He reached out and grabbed Master Greg’s pants leg. 

“Please, what?” 

“Help me.” 

Master Greg sighed.“Come on,” he said, motioning for Jimmy to follow him to the couch.He had Jimmy dress and wash his face.He told Jimmy to masturbate if he wanted, or take a few minutes to recover.Jimmy sat on the toilet and thought of the feeling of Master Greg’s lips from the times they’d kissed, thought about Master Greg’s arms around him when they slept. 

_I wish I could be free to love him.I wish he could be free to love me._

He didn’t touch himself. 

Master Greg poured Jimmy a few ounces of whiskey but continued to drink from the bottle himself.Jimmy sat beside him on the couch, shoulders slumped. 

“Thank you for showing me,” Jimmy said after a few minutes of silence. 

Master Greg held out his hand, palm up.Jimmy took it in his own.“I’m sorry I had to do that to you,” Master Greg said, pulling Jimmy’s hand so he could kiss his knuckles.“I’m sorry I had to scare you like that.” 

Jimmy shook his head.“You had to.I wouldn’t have known, otherwise.You did the right thing.” 

“I hated doing it.” 

“Master Greg, is there a way to make this work?” 

“Make what work?” 

“Us.Having sex.” 

“I don’t know.”He took another swig from the bottle.“If you were free, I’d have done it ages ago.I know you’ve wanted it since the beginning.I’ve wanted it almost as long.” 

“You have?” 

Master Greg nodded.“If only you were free, Jimmy…”

“What if you freed me?” 

“Remember what I said before?There are rules.A manumitted slave isn’t allowed to live with a former Master.In fact, he would have to move to a different state.You wouldn’t be able to be a doctor.” 

“I’m not a doctor, now.I won’t be, even when I’m on your license.”Jimmy paused.“You asked me, that day, what I’d do if I were free.” 

“You said you wanted to practice medicine.” 

“My first thought was that I wanted to offer myself to you without strings or coercion.I wanted to give myself to you.” 

“I think you think you mean that,” Master Greg muttered.“But I can’t believe you.Not yet.Maybe not ever.There’s no curing the brainwashing, Jimmy.The abolitionists have been trying for decades.No successes.Every single freed slave studied has responded to the SubCon commands, no matter how long they’ve been free.It’s part of why the recidivism rate is so high.It’s part of why former slaves make mistakes on purpose to be re-collared.” 

“You researched this?” Jimmy asked, his voice filled with awe. 

“Of course.”Master Greg capped the bottle and rested it on the floor.“I own you, Jimmy.I needed to understand what that meant, what the rules were, whether or not there were ways to break or bend them.How do you think I found out about the licensing?” 

“I didn’t think about it.” 

“I want to do the right thing,” Master Greg said.“I don’t want to hurt you.And I should’ve done the research immediately when I knew she wasn’t going to take you back, but I couldn’t.Not right away.I’m sorry.” 

“I know, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered.“But can’t we do _anything?_ Kissing me wouldn’t hurt me,” he pointed out boldly.“I love you.That feeling is real, whether it was created by subconscious brainwashing or not.I love you, and I want to touch you, and I want to give you pleasure, and I want to sleep in your bed and wake you with sex and be your sounding-board at work, and anything else you want.” 

Master Greg shook his head sadly.“You’ve just proven my point again.You can’t know that it’s real love because it’s so mixed up in the conditioning.” 

“So what?” 

“I won’t take advantage of you.” 

“What if I initiate the sex?” 

“You’ve been trained to do that.” 

“Again, so what?What if it’s great sex, for both of us?What if you treat me kindly and touch me gently and make sure I’m enjoying it?Is there some subcon command for enjoyment?” 

“Not that I could find.”Master Greg looked away.“I can’t,” he said softly.He pushed himself to his feet.“I can’t do that to you.I can’t do that to anyone.Maybe someday I’ll tell you why.” 

“Unless you order me not to, I’m going to continue trying to seduce you,” Jimmy declared. 

Master Greg’s lips twitched into a crooked smile.“Good luck,” he said.He reached out and pulled Jimmy into a half-standing position to kiss his forehead.“I think we’re both going to need it.” 

.

.

.


	15. Reinforcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy still has some things to learn.

With Monday morning came Master Greg’s return to work.Sunday had been a strained affair, start to finish.Jimmy had walked around the apartment feeling dazed and out of sorts, slow to respond to Master Greg’s comments or commands, and focused on the lesson Master Greg had given him.It was all he could think about.Master Greg, himself, seemed preoccupied and more touchy than usual.They’d barely spoken, and Jimmy hadn’t ventured to begin his seduction plan, feeling too hurt and raw from the lesson.Plus, his ass still ached from the caning. 

“Jimmy, get changed into your good clothes,” Master Greg said as he packed his briefcase in preparation for leaving. 

Jimmy’s good clothes were black jeans and a red polo shirt designed to show off his collar from the front, though from the back it wouldn’t be visible.Even from behind there would be no doubt of his status as a slave, however, for he was required to be on-leash when not in a private home or a building that allowed unleashed slaves to move about freely.He doubted he was going out, however.Master Greg had never taken him anywhere, buying his clothing and supplies online.The only times he went anywhere were when the slave handlers came to transport him to his afternoon classes, and he didn’t have to dress up for them.Maybe Master Greg wanted him dressed up for the classes now that he’d passed? 

He didn’t have a tag on his collar anymore, something which frightened him about this afternoon.He knew he’d be used by at least three to five people between the handlers from the transport company and the teacher, who often had untagged slaves held back for ‘extra training,’ though they all knew it meant heavy use.He’d seen some of the other slaves come in to class with bruises from the teacher, and one of them, Mary, told him that her Mistress thought of the whole thing as a bonus. 

Mary was being re-certified under her Mistress’s father’s medical license so that she could be a nurse/caregiver for his wife.Her Mistress’s father had complained a few times that Mary wasn’t responsive enough during use, so the teacher’s use of her acted as a motivator for good behavior.If she disliked the teacher’s use, maybe she’d respond more the way her Mistress’s father wanted, or so her Mistress speculated.Mary confided in Jimmy one afternoon that her Mistress’s father preferred anal sex to vaginal, so the teacher’s use of her was actually a waste of time, but she wasn’t in a position to tell her Mistress that.Her Mistress was much more strict about Mary talking back than Master Greg, who encouraged James to talk back when necessary. 

When Jimmy presented himself to Master Greg at the front door, he saw that Master Greg held a leash in his hand.He must be taking Jimmy out for some reason, Jimmy concluded.Master Greg looked at Jimmy, who tilted his head to the side so Master Greg could clip it onto his collar. 

“Haven’t done this in years,” Master Greg muttered.He seemed uncomfortable about clipping on the leash. 

“May I ask where we’re going, Master Greg?” Jimmy asked, keeping his tone respectful and averting his eyes. 

“I need to get you a new tag,” Master Greg explained.“I’m not letting anyone get near you without one,” he added. 

“Thank you, Master Greg!” Jimmy exclaimed, dropping to his knees to show his gratitude.The leash tugged painfully on his collar and he choked until Master Greg dropped it. 

“Shit, the leash is too short,” Master Greg said.“How am I supposed to take you anywhere with this?” 

“There’s another leash, Master Greg,” Jimmy offered.At his Master’s nod, he went to the hall closet and brought out the longer leash, one that had two clips, one on each end.“This one is longer and will clip to your belt, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, handing it over.“I know you didn’t authorize me to buy it, but I knew that you wouldn’t be able to hold the other one with your cane hand, and you’d need to have your other hand free, so…”

Master Greg stared at the black leather leash for a long moment.“You thought that far in advance?” he finally asked.“That I’d want a hand free and the other one would be too short?” 

“Yes, Master Greg.” 

Master Greg reached down and ruffled Jimmy’s hair where he knelt. “Good boy!Anticipating my needs, that’s what I like to see.” 

Jimmy smiled and preened under the praise.He was happy Master Greg approved.He’d been a little nervous, buying it without permission, but he’d already been on the Slaves’R’Us website buying the “essentials” Master Greg wanted to have in the house that went beyond the welcome kit Mistress Stacy acquired, and he’d seen a picture of the leash used with a slave child being allowed to roam a little farther from her owner at a park, and thought it might come in handy.Master Greg had approved the overall purchase, but Jimmy doubted he’d seen the leash amidst the higher price items like Jimmy’s bed and the folding cage that replaced the one Mistress Stacy bought because Jimmy hadn’t fit into it.Master Greg had been clear that he wanted Jimmy to be able to sit upright and turn around in his cage, especially if he got on the bad side of the SAC for some reason and had to keep Jimmy caged when he was out. 

Master Greg replaced the short leash with the new one and handed Jimmy his briefcase to carry.At the car, he unclipped Jimmy and opened the back door for him.Jimmy got in and fastened the slave harness around himself.Designed to keep a slave immobile, it had a safety-release button in case of an accident.Master Greg closed the restraints around Jimmy’s wrists and put the safety-release button in his left hand. 

“Fucking hate having to do this,” he grumbled to himself.Jimmy remained silent.Master Greg pulled the black hood over Jimmy’s head, blocking all sight and muffling sounds.“Ok in there?” 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered. 

“Good.It’ll be about twenty minutes, barring traffic.” 

“Yes, Master Greg.”Under the hood, Jimmy sighed.It wasn’t necessary to tell him how long the drive would be, but Master Greg wanted him to know.He hated knowing.It was much easier to zone out when he didn’t have an internal clock going off in his head, trying to count.He wasn’t allowed to wear a watch, of course, and his use of time was generally limited to knowing when his Master was due home and managing cooking times.Still, it was considerate of Master Greg to think of him. 

Jimmy hadn’t been driven in a personal vehicle since Mistress Stacy bought him for Master Greg.The slave transport company Master Greg hired used vans, and there were often three or four other slaves strapped in with Jimmy, especially if there were several slaves on the route going to the same place.He felt himself relaxing in a way he couldn’t when in the vans, with other slaves breathing near him.Sometimes one of them panicked and vomited, and that was never fun for anyone.It meant a stop to make sure the slave was breathing, and then they all had to sit in a van that smelled like vomit until they were at their destination.Jimmy, fortunately, had never been prone to car-sickness, as far as he knew, and his stomach was very strong, no doubt honed during medical school.He might gag, or even retch, but he managed not to bring anything up. 

Master Greg drove reasonably well, Jimmy thought.He didn’t get the sense that he was speeding, though he could tell he wasn’t slow.The drive was uneventful.Jimmy followed behind his Master into the store at the usual distance, not taking any extra space that the leash would have allowed.He was out in public with his Master for the first time, and he didn’t want to be seen as taking liberties.He wanted to be the perfect slave. 

At the front desk, Master Greg explained what he wanted to the store clerk, who took Master Greg’s ownership papers to verify that Master Greg was allowed to purchase the tag.He scanned the microchip in Jimmy’s neck to make sure that Master Greg had the correct slave, then he went to the back to make the tag. 

“Anything you see here you want?” Master Greg asked.Jimmy looked up from where he knelt, a question on his face.“Pick out a new cushion and something for yourself,” he said, unclipping the leash from Jimmy’s collar and waving him off. 

“Am I allowed to be off-leash here, sir?” Jimmy asked. 

“I’m crippled.I can’t walk around this place with you.Go, take five minutes.”Master Greg pulled off his watch and handed it to Jimmy.“Go,” he said again when Jimmy didn’t move. 

“Thank you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, getting to his feet. 

Jimmy took four minutes exploring the store and acquainting himself with the options.He knew what he wanted as soon as he saw it, but he felt the need to look around because Master Greg told him to.Racks and shelves of discipline items, gags and restraints contrasted with the ‘toys’ and comfort items like bedding, clothing, costumes and decorative collars.Jimmy smirked at the ‘toys.’To him, they looked like the kind of thing one would get one’s dog.Then he remembered his status as below a dog and the smirk dropped from his face.Even the aisle of ‘Premium Slave Chow’ told him his place.There was flavored kibble, weight-loss food, food for elderly slaves, and a panorama of ‘wet treats.’He’d eaten Slave Chow almost exclusively when Mistress Bethany owned him, and he knew what those treats tasted like.Dog food. 

Still, having something soft was a treat after weeks on end of dry kibble and only a cup of water every four hours. 

He returned to the counter and placed the requested cushion and his item there before getting back to his knees.Master Greg re-clipped the leash to his collar and put his watch back on. 

“This?Really?” Master Greg asked, holding up the gag Jimmy selected.He sounded skeptical. 

“Yes, Master Greg,” Jimmy answered, not looking up because he didn’t want Master Greg to see the blush on his cheeks.Yes, he wanted that gag.Very much. 

“Ah, excellent choice, sir,” the store clerk said, returning with the brand new tag for Jimmy’s collar.He sounded extremely pleased to see the gag in Master Greg’s hand.Not the most expensive one in the store, it was still on the pricier side of average.Jimmy wondered if the clerk got paid by commission.“That’s one of our most popular models of comfort gags.We’ve found them very effective in calming slaves when they’re agitated.” 

“Really?” Master Greg asked, and Jimmy could tell from his voice that he wasn’t sure what to make of the entire situation.Odd, considering how many books on slaves and slavery he’d been reading lately. 

“Indeed.Notice how the insert is shaped like a phallus.It gives the slave something recognizable to suck on while gagged, which stimulates feelings of acceptance of his place and desire to please his Master sexually.It’s especially useful for newer slaves who haven’t become accustomed to fellatio and need to practice.” 

There was a very long pause. 

“He doesn’t need to practice,” Master Greg said, a leer in his voice.Jimmy had never heard that tone before and wondered where it came from.“Why do you think I want him tagged?” 

“Of course, sir, I completely understand,” the clerk agreed, a similar tone in his voice.Oh, now Jimmy recognized it.It was the voice of someone long accustomed to using slaves sexually.He wondered if the man was giving Jimmy the predatory appraisal most freepersons gave him when they thought of him sexually.“He seems to be an excellent specimen.” 

“You think?Jimmy, strip.” 

Though he didn’t expect the order, Jimmy did as he was told, getting to his feet, unclipping the leash and pulling off his clothing.He folded it neatly and placed it on the counter.The clerk walked around the counter to give Jimmy’s naked body an appreciative once-over. 

“May I?” the clerk wondered. 

“Go ahead,” Master Greg said with a nonchalant wave. 

Jimmy shivered when the clerk’s hands touched him.He bit back a whimper when the man’s hand brushed over the healing welts on his ass.He closed his eyes and tried to distance himself from his body. 

A sharp smack to the ass broke Jimmy’s concentration, and he realized that the clerk wanted him present while he was examined. 

“Lovely boy; though disobedient?” the clerk wondered.He stroked Jimmy’s cock, encouraging him to get hard.Jimmy felt violated.How could Master Greg let this _stranger_ touch him like this?Why would Master Greg do this to him?Didn’t he know Jimmy didn’t want anyone but him to touch him? 

“He needed a reminder of his place,” Master Greg said coldly.“Didn’t you, Jimmy?” 

Jimmy understood.This was a continuation of his lesson from the weekend.He was owned and his body wasn’t his own.He could be fondled or used by anyone, and he couldn’t resist without facing punishment.There was no way Master Greg could trust his desire for him when he was like this, especially with the visual evidence that his body was responding to another’s touch when they both knew he didn’t want it. 

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy whispered, defeated.He’d learned his lesson. 

“Tell me some more about this gag,” Master Greg said, distracting the man from Jimmy.He tossed Jimmy’s clothing to the floor and ordered him to dress.Wearing jeans with an erection wasn’t the most fun experience of his life, but it also wasn’t the worst.Jimmy resigned himself to his place.He got back on his knees, ignoring the pain until his erection went down. 

“If you’re concerned about the safety for your slave, please be reassured that the gag is designed with his comfort in mind.This snap-design on the back allows him to quickly remove it if he’s having any trouble breathing or gagging on saliva.There are several sizes of inserts, so we could start with a smaller one if you’d prefer.” 

More silence.Master Greg snapped his fingers to get Jimmy’s attention. 

“Have you worn one of these before?” he demanded in a voice that bordered on anger. 

“Yes, sir,” Jimmy answered at his most subservient. 

“Did you find it soothing?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jimmy could hear Master Greg tapping his finger against the glass countertop. Master Greg sighed. 

“Can I try it on him to make sure it fits?” 

.

.

.

The drive home was much shorter that the drive to the store.Jimmy blinked in the sunlight when Master Greg pulled the hood off him before he undid the restraints.He got out of the car and accepted the cushion, Master Greg’s briefcase, and the plastic bag holding the new gag. 

As Master Greg attached the leash to his collar, Jimmy looked around.They weren’t on their street.In fact, they were parked in a handicapped spot with Dr. House’s name on it. 

“We’re at the hospital,” Master Greg explained.“I don’t have time to bring you home.” 

Jimmy nodded, feeling the new tag moving on his collar.He’d thanked Master Greg profusely when he’d attached it to the d-ring after paying for all his purchases.The store clerk had winked at Jimmy and made a lewd gesture that Master Greg hadn’t seen.He’d tried to ignore the shame of the man’s assumption that Master Greg used him frequently for all sorts of depraved sexual activities when Jimmy had to beg for even a kiss.Not that he had a right to a kiss, he reminded himself.Freepersons didn’t routinely kiss slaves.It wasn’t seemly. 

Walking into the hospital on Dr. House’s leash made Jimmy shiver with anticipation.He’d passed his class.Soon he might be allowed to work here! 

The main lobby was filled with light due to the many windows, creating a warm, welcoming atmosphere.The reception desk had several potted plants to make it seem more cheery.There was a bin of Slave Chow and paper bowls next to the water fountain in the corner, and several hitching posts for slaves.Looking to one side, Jimmy saw the Free Clinic his Master so frequently disdained.He dropped to his knees when his Master stopped at the desk to sign in and pick up his messages. 

“House, you’re late!” a female voice called.Jimmy heard high heels and recognized the voice as belonging to Dr. Cuddy, his Master’s boss. 

“So sue me.I had errands this morning,” Dr. House answered.Jimmy noticed a marked change in his posture as he transitioned into his professional persona.He stood taller, but at the same time hunched a little more than usual.His voice was gruffer, and Jimmy saw that his hand gripped his cane more tightly, indicating tension.“You remember James?” he added as he reached down to unclip the leash. 

“You can’t have him unleashed,” Dr. Cuddy protested, stopping Dr. House before he could do it. 

“The memo said —“

“That after a month of good behavior on-leash, you can apply to let him be unleashed around the hospital.And good behavior includes you, too.” 

“Two weeks,” Dr. House countered.“He’s extremely well-behaved.” 

“A month,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.“No exceptions.I don’t want Dr. Smith or Dr. Whitney jumping down my throat because you managed to skate around the rules again.” 

“What if I worked in the Clinic?” Dr. House suggested. 

“It’s your _job_ to work in the Clinic!” Dr. Cuddy exclaimed. 

“But I haven’t.Ask Nurse Brunhilda.” 

“Brenda!” 

“Whatever.I’ll give you two hours a day in the Clinic for two weeks if you let James off-leash afterwards.My final offer.” 

“A month,” Dr. Cuddy repeated.She turned and walked away. 

“Worth a shot, huh, James?” Dr. House asked, patting his head.He didn’t seem to require an answer, so James remained quiet as he gathered Dr. House’s things and followed him to the elevators. 

.

.

.

James spent a significant part of the day kneeling on the new cushion next to Dr. House’s desk, his leash tied to the table leg.Dr. House stayed at his desk for a few hours, doing such medically necessary things as reading soap opera magazines, watching _Prescription Passion_ , and looking up random things on the internet.He casually introduced James to his fellow, Dr. Tanaka, whom Dr. House referred to by several different Asian names that weren’t his. 

After lunch in the hospital cafeteria, Slave Chow for James, reuben and fries for Dr. House, they walked over to the Clinic, where Dr. House informed Nurse Previn that he was there to see patients.James saw the look of incredulity on her face before he lowered his gaze. 

“I’m Dr. House, and this is James.He’ll be diagnosing you today,” Dr. House declared when they entered the exam room to see a middle-aged man complaining of stomach pain. 

“What?” the patient demanded, jumping off the exam table.“I’m not having a slave diagnose me!” 

“He’s in training,” Dr. House said, taking a seat on the stool and propping his cane on the counter.He unclipped James’s collar from the leash and handed him the chart.“James?” 

James, surprised and not a little intimidated by the turn of events, took the chart and looked at it, familiarizing himself with the layout of the paperwork at the hospital.It looked like a basic patient face-sheet with a brief area for the presenting problem and doctor’s notes.He’d been using similar forms for years as a student and then as a doctor.He hadn’t gone to his knees, so he was able to look the patient in the eyes when he looked up. 

“When did the stomach pain start?” he asked in a voice he hadn’t used since before he was collared.It was his doctor-voice, and he hadn’t realized it would come out. 

The patient looked from James’s firm expression and Dr. House’s bored expression and sat back down.“Off and on for a few weeks?” 

“Have you changed your diet at all?” 

“No, just, um, my wife made me give up beer.Said three cans after dinner was too much.” 

James thought to himself that no longer drinking beer _was_ a change to his diet, but refrained from commenting.“Have you noticed a pattern in when the pain presents?” 

“Usually after meals, I guess.Dinner more than anything.” 

Before James could ask another question, Dr. House interrupted.“What did you replace the beer with?” 

“Um…”

“Rye,” Dr. House said, answering his own question, noticeably impatient.“I can smell it on your breath.If you’re going to switch from beer to rye, then you _should_ be having stomach pains.Quit the rye and go back to beer.You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

James and the patient stared at him. 

“Are you telling me to drink beer?” the patient finally asked. 

“Yes, you idiot.It’s much better for you than rye, and in the quantities you’ve been drinking it, you’d be dead sooner rather than later, so if your wife wants you around, tell her beer is better for you.” 

“I only drink half as much rye as beer,” the patient protested. 

“Half?” James blurted.“Six ounces of rye for each can of beer?That’s the same as four beers!” 

“Really?” the patient asked.He looked to Dr. House. 

“James’s math is correct.So if you’d been drinking three beers a day…”

“…That’s twelve shots,” James finished for him. 

The patient seemed to deflate in front of them.“Four?Twelve?” he muttered.“No wonder I got fired the other day.” 

“A beer with lunch?” Dr. House asked.The patient nodded.Dr. House scribbled something on his prescription pad and handed it to the patient.“Go.Show that to your wife.” 

The patient left the room, seeming to be in a daze.Dr. House turned to James. 

“Good, you can still be a doctor,” Dr. House said.“Now all we need to do is get you feeling confident about it.Write up the notes for me to sign,” he said, tossing James a pen.“Left-handed scrawl, hmm, that might not be a bad thing,” Dr. House mused as he signed the chart when James was done. 

“Dr. House, Exam Room —“

“My work here is done,” Dr. House declared, interrupting Nurse Previn on his way past the nurse’s station.He dropped the chart in one of the trays and sauntered past, James following on his leash. 

Dr. House gave James a part of his candy bar as a treat and took him back to the Diagnostics Department, where they stayed the rest of the day.Dr. Tanaka was sent to ‘go find something interesting,’ leaving James alone with his Master while he played solitaire on the computer. 

.

.

.

On Thursday, Dr. Cuddy walked into the Diagnostics Department with a patient chart and dropped it on Dr. House’s desk, covering the crossword he was doing in pen.He frowned up at her. 

“What’s this?” 

“You have a patient,” she answered.“And what’s _he_ doing here?”she asked, pointing at James who was working on a xerox of the same crossword in pencil where he knelt on his cushion. 

“Keeping me amused,” Dr. House answered.He reached over and ruffled James’s hair, something he’d been doing more and more lately. 

“You can’t keep bringing him everywhere.” 

“He’s my property, I can do whatever I want with him,” Dr. House countered.“Besides, he’s not allowed to be off-leash, according to some paper you sent around.” 

“House…” she grumbled with a frustrated sigh and an eye-roll. 

“Do you want me to see the patient or not?” 

“Fine!He can stay.But no more passing him off as a doctor.I’ve gotten several complaints this week from Clinic patients.” 

“Where else is he supposed to practice?” Dr. House asked.“I’m not about to send him somewhere with real diseases.What if he caught something and gave it to me and I couldn’t work?” 

“He’s not supposed to do anything medical until he’s been approved by the Board _and_ has official permission to practice under your license!” 

“How will the Board know he can do it unless he practices?” 

“We’ll think of something,” Dr. Cuddy said, sweeping out of the office. 

“Tanaka!” Dr. House called.“Get a patient history,” he ordered the young man, tossing him the file.He got to his feet.“Come on, Jimmy.I gotta piss, and it’s about time for your bathroom break, too.” 

.

.

.

Jimmy tried to remain calm as he knelt by his Master’s side Saturday night.His ass no longer hurt very much from the punishment that afternoon, but he still felt every blow.He’d deserved the punishment, of course.Dr. House had just diagnosed and saved his patient’s life and was getting ready to go home.James, anticipating this, started rising from his place on his cushion too quickly and jostled Dr. House’s bad leg. 

“Crop!” came the shouted command.James ran to the door and picked a crop from the stand next to the coatrack.It was hospital policy to have disciplinary tools in every department that routinely made use of slaves, hospital- or privately-owned.“Supplication, ass up,” Dr. House barked, snatching the crop from his hand. 

Humiliated, Dr. Tanaka was in the conference room finishing patient charting and was no doubt watching the whole thing, James got into supplication pose and lifted his rear. 

“Never — _strike_ — hit — _strike_ — the — _strike_ — leg — _strike_ — !” Dr. House said, each hit stronger than the last.At least he hadn’t made James take his pants down.“This is for causing your Master pain,” he continued.“Count them.” 

James counted to fifteen before Dr. House was satisfied that James had learned his lesson.It was a lesson he already knew.He hadn’t meant to cause his Master pain, it was an accident, but there was no talking back to one’s Master, especially about something like this.James felt ashamed that the first punishment he got while at the hospital was because he’d inadvertently hurt his Master.When Dr. House indicated that he was finished, James lowered himself into true supplication pose and begged for forgiveness. 

“Just shut up and pack my stuff.We’re leaving.” 

At home, Master Greg ordered him to sit on his cushion, then proceeded to ignore him the rest of the evening.Being ignored wasn’t unusual when Master Greg was in a bad mood, no matter what caused the mood, and given that James had caused it, Jimmy expected it.After a difficult day, in pain, extra pain because of James, Jimmy doubted he’d want anything to do with his slave. 

So Jimmy knelt, fighting down anger at being punished where someone could see.He wasn’t allowed to get angry at his Master.He wasn’t allowed to second-guess his Master’s decisions.And he wasn’t supposed to feel humiliation or shame.He was just supposed to take his punishment and beg forgiveness and learn from his mistake. 

He felt his Master’s eyes on him and raised his head. 

“Go clean something,” Master Greg said, turning up the TV.“I can’t stand the sight of you.” 

Jimmy gathered his cleaning supplies and went to the kitchen first to take care of the dishes and countertops.Then he stripped off his jeans and shirt so he could clean the bathtub without needing to do an extra load of laundry.His boxers and undershirt, if they got wet, wouldn’t necessitate their own load, the way his “good outfit” getting messed up would.He got into the tub so he could scrub down the tiles.If he worked hard enough, with the right cleaning product, he might be able to make the grout between the tiles more white. 

Scrubbing the tiles made him sweat.It felt good to use his body enough to sweat.He’d enjoyed running with Mistress Bethany when she had time for exercise, and he knew he got the “runner’s high” people spoke of.He’d never have that opportunity with Master Greg.There wasn’t much he could do for exercise, unless Master Greg decided he needed to work out.He did a few floor exercises every morning as part of his wake-up routine, he had the time with Master Greg still sleeping, and it kept him from getting fat, but he knew that as he aged, he’d have to do more if he wanted to stay in shape.If Master Greg wanted him to stay in shape, that was.Or cared about him enough to want him in shape. 

He reached for the tap and switched the lever from the usual overhead setting to the tub spigot before turning the dial for water. 

Jimmy shrieked when the shower suddenly rained cold water down over him.He lunged to turn it off and smashed his forehead into one of the metal fixtures.He could see blood turning the water pink and felt its warmth on his face.He slipped on soap when he tried to stand, landing on his still tender ass. 

“God damnit!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing the scrub brush as hard as he could.It ricocheted off the wall and hit him in the shoulder.He burst into angry tears, swearing more vocally and with more creativity. 

Master Geg’s laughter from the doorway startled him.He looked up to see Master Greg supporting himself on the wall, laughing.There was no sign of his cane. 

“You’re adorable!” Master Greg exclaimed, hobbling forward to sit on the edge of the tub next to Jimmy.He reached over and turned off the water.“You’ve been in a foul mood all day, and look what happens.Such impotent anger.”He continued chuckling while Jimmy tried to give him a death glare.It was hard to mean it, though, when he was so happy to see his Master smiling and laughing after the silent anger and pain of earlier.Master Greg ruffled his wet hair, sending droplets of water everywhere.

“Hold still, I’m gonna get my kit.That might need stitches,” Master Greg said, his laughter mostly under control.After wiping away the blood and making Jimmy hold a compress to the wound, Master Greg took hold of Jimmy’s head with both hands, but instead of the expected examination, he leaned down and kissed him.Jimmy kissed back, of course.He was starved for affection, and Master Greg, for a change, seemed willing to give it. 

It was the first kiss in over a week, since Master Greg gave him that lesson on slave training and why he wouldn’t have sex with Jimmy.The lesson still sat on the top of Jimmy’s mind whenever they were in the same room.He tried to accept that this kissing was Master Greg allowing them _something_.Something was better than nothing, after all.And most slaves didn’t get kisses from their Masters. 

After several minutes, Master Greg pulled back and lifted the compress to examine his head.“Bleeding’s stopped.Doesn’t look bad,” he decided.He cleaned Jimmy’s face and put a small bandage over the cut. 

“Thank you, Master Greg,” Jimmy said.He shivered. 

“Go dry yourself and get some fresh clothes,” Master Greg said. 

.

.

.

The incident in the bathroom seemed to fix Master Greg’s mood, and after Jimmy had changed and put away the cleaning supplies, Master Greg ordered him to get two beers and sit on the couch with him, pretending to be Wilson.Jimmy loved being Wilson.He was expected to act like a person, like Master Greg’s friend, and it was as intoxicating as the alcohol he was allowed to drink.Master Greg’s affection was intoxicating, too.Each time he had Jimmy be Wilson, he became more flirty and affectionate.Each time they cuddled.Each time they kissed a little longer than the time before.Each time he had Jimmy sleep in bed with him afterwards.

Jimmy hadn’t been Wilson since before the night when Master Greg mentioned getting Jimmy a tail so he could be a puppy, when Jimmy had massaged Master Greg and aroused him, when his SAC subcon training had taken over and ruined what could have been their first time having sex. 

Tonight, Master Greg ordered pizza, and they gorged on greasy food, beer, and bad television.Master Greg switched to scotch at one point, and Jimmy could taste it on his lips when Master Greg leaned over for a kiss.They kissed long into the night, Master Greg much more relaxed than usual.Once in bed, Master Greg pulled Jimmy close and started kissing him again.He even stroked Jimmy’s hair. 

“I could kiss you forever,” Master Greg whispered in the dark, moving to suck on Jimmy’s ear.Jimmy shivered in pleasure.“You like it, don’t you, Wilson?” 

“Yes,” Jimmy breathed, baring his neck for Master Greg’s mouth.Master Greg kissed around Jimmy’s collar, adding little nips for contrast.“We should’ve started doing this years ago,” Jimmy added.In the role-play as Wilson, they’d decided that he and House had been friends since 1991, and that the kissing was the natural progression of their friendship.Jimmy squirmed a little and rolled to his back, bringing Master Greg with him so that Master Greg lay between his legs.Their groins lined up. 

Master Greg gasped at the sensation of Jimmy’s erection against his own through their clothes.He dove in for a deeper kiss, grabbing Jimmy’s head to hold him in place. 

“God, Jimmy,” Master Greg hissed.He thrust his hips against Jimmy, rubbing them together more forcefully.Jimmy couldn’t hold back the moan.Master Greg wrapped his arms around Jimmy and squeezed, lowering his head so that his forehead rested on Jimmy’s shoulder. He started shaking.He started crying.Jimmy responded, holding Master Greg and stroking his back, trying to soothe the tears that he could feel through his shirt. 

“It’s ok, Master Greg,” Jimmy said, continuing the gentle rubbing.“It’ll be ok.” 

“Not in this lifetime,” Master Greg responded sadly.He pulled away from Jimmy and disentangled their bodies.“Get me a washcloth, would you?” he asked, holding a hand over his eyes. 

Jimmy knew a dismissal when he heard it, and after bringing Master Greg a warm wet washcloth, he moved around the apartment getting everything ready for nighttime. 

Fortunately, Master Greg had gotten himself under control by the time Jimmy was finished, and the invitation to sleep in the bed came as it usually did on the ‘Wilson’ nights.As Jimmy relaxed under the blankets with his owner, he wished he could find a way to make it easier for Master Greg.He wished Master Greg would believe him, would get past his own past, whatever it was, to be able to use Jimmy. 

He fell asleep cursing the SAC. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
